


Sunshine

by lectrolamb



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Human Revolution, Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Adam Jensen defense squad, Adam deserves to be happy, Angst, Dark, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I love my OC, Megan critical, NSFW, cyberpunk Superman and Lois Lane, fudging the canon timeline a lot, information wants to be free, intrepid reporter, pro-aug, she's really good to Adam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 84,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6898201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lectrolamb/pseuds/lectrolamb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie Winters has always had a knack for getting into places she doesn't belong. It's what makes her so good at her job as an investigative journalist - no secret is safe from her prying eyes or dogged determination. She has no family and lives in isolation, dedicating herself to her work with a sort of manic fanaticism, but comes from a tangled nest of personal ties - a debt owed to David Sarif and a vendetta against Bob Page. It was only a matter of time before she crossed paths with Adam Jensen, and when she breaks into Milwaukee Junction during the Purity First attack hoping for a big scoop, she becomes irrevocably involved in the search for Sarif's kidnapped scientists. Jensen is intense and abrasive and larger-than-life and at first Charlie feels so out of her depth it's like she's drowning. But the deeper they go into the investigation the more her personal ties keep popping up and she and Jensen seem to fit together like two weird, fucked-up puzzle pieces and she learns she's capable of things she never imagined and it becomes very clear that she's never belonged anywhere more than with him. Stronger together, and a real threat to the Illuminati - their fight will be unending, but they were built for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This machine is obsolete

**Author's Note:**

> hello readers! Super excited to be starting this project, personally I think Adam Jensen is one of the most wonderful and fascinating video game characters ever made, and I like to think I've crafted a nice counterpart for him in Charlie. A few quick notes and warnings - this work will be Megan critical. I understand that there are lots of people out there who like Megan, and like Megan and Adam as a pairing, and I completely respect that. If you like Megan, and if you ship Megan and Adam, you may want to avoid reading. Also, this work will toy with the ideas that Adam suffers from PTSD and body dysmorphic disorder, so if any of these things may be triggering to you, please avoid reading or read with caution. I will try and TW specific chapters as best I can. Also, this will be slightly canon-divergent in some areas. Namely that the events of the first comic series never happened, simply because I cannot imagine trying to shove more events into this already cramped timeline. I try to do my research and stick to canon as frequently as I can, but I may bend it slightly in some regards simply for logistic reasons. I hope to make this a two-part series, spanning Human Revolution and Mankind Divided - of course the second part will have to wait until I've played Mankind Divided (which I am seriously so excited for.) Anyway, enough blabbing! On to the work!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quick note as I make my first divergence from canon. I know in-game you(Adam) visit the LIMB clinic and the doctor tells you that you don't need neuropozyne. I honestly don't believe that it would be brushed off like that - Adam Jensen is the only person in.the.world who doesn't need neuropozyne. That's a HUGE deal and I think a much bigger deal would/should be made of it so for the purposes of my fic they would never even test Adam to see if he needed it because why would they do that, they just give him the neuropozyne because 100% of people so far who have been augmented have needed it.

More and more often, Adam felt like the world was mocking him.

Big things, small things - major bulletpoints and minor details - everything made him feel like he was the subject of some grotesque cosmic joke that he definitely was not in on. It started with Mexicantown. When he closed his eyes, he still saw that kid behind his eyelids - silhouetted in floodlights, wide-eyed and scared, cybernetic hand peeking out from his sweatshirt sleeve. And he _was_ just a kid. The voice of his squad commander buzzed through his earpiece. _“Target is armed and dangerous. Shoot to kill.”_ But somehow that voice was drowned out by another - stronger, louder, deeper - echoing from straight within his core. _Protect and serve. Protect and serve. Protect and serve._ He was never prone to heavy-handed idealism, but he’d joined the police force for a reason, and that reason wasn’t slaughtering defenseless children who posed no real threat - augmented or not. He just couldn’t do what he knew was wrong, and so he lowered his gun and stepped back. It would be a lie if he said he’d never questioned it… maybe he should have just taken the order, just shot the kid. Haas did it anyway - it wasn’t like he’d actually saved a life. Just wrecked his own, and all for nothing.

Then it was Megan. After Mexicantown he was angry, bitter, frustrated frayed and fragile like a rope stretched too far. Unemployed, disgraced, disenchanted - it was unfair of him to expect her to be able to handle all that. At least, that’s what she told him. Her life had never been better - she was making great strides in her research at Sarif, excelling in every regard. He was the one black spot on her life. All he did was drag her down, and she made sure he knew it. She even worked hard to find a job for him at Sarif, and she expected a return on her efforts. Immediately. When new employment didn’t stem the jagged, violent tides of his anger or lift the shame he carried with him every day, she had to move on. Bigger, better, brighter. She could have helped him carry the weight and they would have both had lighter loads - but it wasn’t her responsibility. He wasn’t her responsibility. She kept his dog.

The new job was great - it was. Working helped, and David was an incredible man. Megan had always talked about feeling privileged to work with him, and Adam understood now. He felt productive, and valued, and useful once more. But even then, frustration and humiliation never left him. He still saw Megan every day at work. The wound never had time to heal - it was ripped open fresh again, and again, and again. Like when she had a handsome finance exec pick her up on a Friday. Or when Adam rounded a corner, or entered an office, and saw her there with another one of the scientists and he _knew_ they’d just been talking about him. For a while, Adam and Megan were _the_ hot office gossip topic. He could never escape her, and he could’ve sworn she enjoyed it.

And even still, all of that was fucking Christmas day compared to what came next. The attack on Sarif labs. He didn’t remember much of it, except for the end. A strange man, who wore his muscles outside his skin, who picked him up and tossed him like a leaf. He remembered feeling his ribs crack as glass splintered and fractured all around him, tasting copper as blood filled his mouth. The world began to shutter in and out of darkness, then, like someone was flipping the lights on and off. Megan tried to fight back. He remembered feeling proud, when she tossed the bio-waste barrel at their attacker. _That’s my girl._ Except she wasn’t, and her attempt to fight back did nothing more than piss the guy off. Even as Adam was barely holding on to consciousness, some primal anger flared up violently inside of him when the man hit Megan and slung her over his shoulder. And then, well… there weren’t many people alive who could remember being shot in the head at point-blank range. He wished he could forget. He was reliving it constantly, every moment of every day. The man who shot him had a steady hand - the barrel of his gun didn’t shake at all, and Adam felt nothing. A distant _pop_ , a change in pressure, and a slow melting away of the world. Blackness closed in on him, quickly and quietly, with no fanfare. He woke up six days later strapped to a gurney with half of his body gone and replaced with metal.

He spent weeks in physical therapy, trying to become acquainted with his new body. It was like being forced to share a room with a clumsy, violent, darkly terrifying paranoid schizophrenic. His new life was shattered glass, caved-in walls, bruises and fractures and a horrifically frustrating inability to perform the most basic of tasks - and all this under the weight of Megan’s death. They waited a whole day to tell him. He was mad they told him so soon, he would’ve been mad if they waited any longer. So many nights he spent staring at the ceiling, kept awake by the bar in his chest and the sick tender discomfort where his flesh was still fusing with the augmentations, unable to escape all of the best memories of her. Everything else seemed so insignificant now that she was gone. Sure, their relationship wasn’t perfect, but now it wasn’t even an option. If he could go back now he would have bent over backwards to make her happy, to keep her, because at least she was alive and _there_. He felt stupid and ungrateful for ever finding any fault with anything she did. Stupid, ungrateful, ineffectual, worse than useless - he couldn’t stop the attack on Sarif, he couldn’t stop them from killing her. He’d failed at everything so spectacularly. He’d rather be dead - but he didn’t get a say in that. It seemed as though he didn’t get a say in any part of his own life anymore.

They sent him home when he could brush his teeth and walk straight and pick up a cup of coffee without breaking off the handle. ‘Home’ was a stretch, though. The fancy corporate apartment Sarif had moved him in to felt nothing like home - he wasn’t sure if there was a place that would feel anything like home now. It was big, and beautiful, and dark, and cold. His belongings sat in boxes gathering dust, and for the first few days he tried to drink himself in to a stupor. He couldn’t, of course - his new Sentinel RX Health Implant filtered the alcohol out of his bloodstream before he could feel it’s effects in any real way. The first time he realized he couldn’t drink himself to the point of blacking out, he was so angry he threw a bottle of scotch against the wall so hard that the glass didn’t even shatter in to solid pieces. It was just a fine mist. He cleaned up the mess shamefully. He didn’t sleep much. David had kindly provided him with books and supplies on antique clockmaking - he still needed to build dexterity in his new cybernetic hands. He busied himself with gears and wires and screws and tiny metal components until his eyes burned. The neural interceptors were still getting used to signals from his brain, and there was a split-second delay from when he told his fingers to move and when they actually moved. It was beyond infuriating, and only served to alienate him more from the strange new body he was forced to inhabit. He still had physical therapy sessions three times a week. It was the only time he left his apartment. Once a week, on Sunday like some twisted sacrament, he took his Neuropozyne shot. The needles were huge, and he was strangely glad that his flesh was no longer _flesh_. There was a special port at the crook of his polymer elbow just for the anti-rejection shots.

When he first moved in, much of the furniture was draped in sheets, including the large mirror above the bathroom sink. For two weeks he left it covered. Honestly, he was scared of what he would find looking back at him, and he was so full of self-loathing that he knew he would hate it no matter what. But one morning at 3:23am, strung out and skittish with no place left to hide, he stalked into the bathroom and ripped the sheet off the mirror.

He blinked once, twice, bracing his hands on the cold granite countertop. Silently, he observed the face staring back at him - impartial, detached. It looked nothing like the Adam Jensen he remembered - this man looked like he’d aged fifteen years in the span of a month, he looked leaner and meaner and colder. There was no sound but cars zooming down rain-slicked streets outside his window as he leaned in closer to the mirror. His cheeks and eye sockets were sunken and hollow, darkly gaunt. A scar spliced a clean line through browbone, eye, and cheekbone on the left side of his face. He raised a hand to touch the sleek dermal implants on his temples, and jumped when he saw carbon black polymer instead of flesh. He still wasn’t used to it - he doubted he ever would be. They made cybernetics with flesh-toned polymers, like Sevchenko’s arm. The decision to make Adam’s prosthetics black was deliberate. They could have made him look more human, less machine, but they chose not to.

He flexed his fingers, opening and closing the cybernetic hand. The movements were smooth, natural, silent. Almost real, not quite. Barely off the edge of human, he lived in the uncanny valley now. Mechanical fingers brushed against the skin of his temple - the fingertips had sensory enhancement pads, but it wasn’t the same. He could tell if something was soft or hard, hot or cold, dry or wet, but many of the subtleties of tactile sensation were lost. His own flesh felt no different to his touch than a sofa cushion or a leather jacket. He leaned a little closer to the mirror, and only then did he see the retinal prosthesis that overlay his irises. They would be one of the last of his augmentations to be activated, so for now his vision was normal. In a few weeks he would have them activated, and his vision would be enhanced. Thermal sensing, hostile target tracking, environmental data. His eyes had been a steely grey-blue before. Megan loved them. Now they were glowing digital yellow-green, three white lens rings around his pupil, stamped with a model name and serial number. They darted about rapidly like a bird beating against the bars of it’s cage, panicked, looking for a way out. They traveled up to the hexagonal imprint on his forehead, and his fingers followed. He felt the indentation, felt where the plate of his skull gave way. There was metal underneath, he could tell. That was likely where he was shot by the man who took Megan. Squinting, he saw that the skin inside the hexagon was discolored somehow, a light splotch dead center. He moved closer to the mirror and shifted his fingers to the side. Burnt into the skin there was a symbol he recognized immediately. It was on his corporate ID badge. It was on every piece of official communication that came through his desk at work, on his check stubs, on a hundred thousand boxes in a hundred thousand warehouses, on augmented limbs everywhere. It was ubiquitous, in Detroit and worldwide. It was the Sarif Industries logo. He’d been branded with it, smack on his head, like some sort of walking advertisement. Something snapped inside of him.

Adam watched the face in the mirror twist into a ferocious snarl as rage bubbled up in his throat. He felt mechanical muscles tense and flex, a split-second after he told them to, and he brought his fist smashing into the mirror as hard as he could. In a crystalline explosion the mirror cracked, jagged pieces falling into the sink and shattering further. Adrenaline coursed through him as he stood clenching his fists and gasping for breath through his new implanted rebreather. Even through a spiderweb of cracks and splinters and missing pieces, he could still see that face staring back at him. His cheeks burned as he began to realize he’d done nothing but make a mess, and he turned his back on the mirror, his shoulders bowed under the weight of the fact that he was going to have to spend the rest of his life looking at a stranger in the mirror.


	2. Ivy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter our heroine, Charlie Winters - a girl with no family, no attachment to the world side a small black cat, a little bit of a drinking problem, and absolutely no end to her drive to drag the truth out, kicking and screaming, into the light.

 

  
Charlie lifted her glasses off the bridge of her nose and rubbed her eyes wearily. Her computer screen swam in front of her, blurry and just slightly too bright. The clock app blinked in the corner. **10:15pm.** The junior staff offices of Detroit Free Press were empty aside from her, and her monitor was a beacon of light amongst rows and rows of empty, dark cubicles.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she muttered, tapping her pen repeatedly against the mug on her desk. The coffee inside had long gone cold, but she would still pick it up and take a sip occasionally. It seemed to help her think, and that was something she needed desperately right now. She was stuck on this VersaLife piece and it was due soon. As seemed to be happening more frequently, she had reached an impasse. An inescapable nagging gut feeling that there was more to the story, when she was paid to scratch the surface and nothing more. It’s not that DFP shied away from publishing anything controversial - in fact, they were the only paper in Detroit that wasn’t under the thumb of corporate interests or government control. It’s why she’d wanted to work for them in the first place. The fact was, she was a junior staff writer. Her job was to deal with the basics, the info pieces, pure and simple. The only way she would get promoted to a senior staff writer and actually get to go deeper, investigate, make connections, was by doing the job she had now well. And that involved actively resisting the stubborn inquisitive spark that burned deep within her heart. It made it hard for her to work at all, which would make it impossible for her to ever get promoted. She sighed, and blew a stray lock of blonde hair out of her face. She'd rather stay at the office late into the night than go home. Home was cold, quiet, empty. Home was where she went to be constantly reminded of how precisely alone she was in her life. Home was the bottles of vodka under her sink, the heat and the sting cutting through her gloom and wrapping her in a warm, thick blanket, muffling the relentless cold sting of loneliness. At least if she went home she could drink. She typed a little faster.

“ _Reports from company officials confirm that VersaLife has successfully cured AIDS in lab mice, using microscopic nanite robots_ ,” she spoke out loud as she typed. “ _By identifying and destroying HIV virus particles, the nanites are able to stop the virus from replicating, and begin the rejuvenation of T cells needed to run immune systems_.” She stopped typing, but continued talking to herself. “And it’s not at all strange that this is all announced immediately after Zaaphire Biotech announces the development of Riezene which is a cheaper alternative to Neuropozyne which is how VersaLife makes most of it’s money. Because, you know, curing AIDS is an instantaneous process, it’s not like there would have been earlier steps or discoveries by VersaLife that we would have heard anything about.” A video clip played in the corner of her screen, sound on mute. It was Bob Page, CEO of VersaLife and Page Industries, speaking at a press conference about the discovery. She scowled at it.

“You can’t fool everyone, Mr. Page,” she whispered darkly. Charlie had personal experience with the mega-mogul. She knew how he operated, and while others may have balked at the idea, she knew he would have no qualms with doing something like sitting on an AIDS cure until the most advantageous time to go public with it. Of course, she had less than no proof. Just that pesky gut feeling.

Suddenly the office lights shuttered on behind her, and she turned to look. The overnight cleaning crew was just arriving. They often came to discover Charlie still in the office, working very late, and she was on friendly terms with the head janitor, George.

“Go home, Charlie!” he shouted playfully as he pushed his supply cart forward. “I know you ain’t gettin’ nothing done! Just bein’ stubborn like you always are.”

She smiled and switched off her monitor, pushing her chair away from her desk.

“You know me too well, George. Alright, alright, if you insist I’ll get out of your hair. Your metaphorical hair, of course.” Her eyes twinkled as George sheepishly rubbed his bald head. Charlie belted her trench coat around her waist, wrapped a scarf around her neck, and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder, stopping by the kitchen to empty her mug on the way out. She waved goodbye to George and the rest of the cleaning crew and made her way out of the building, traveling through three sets of secure doors and two elevators. On the way she popped her earbuds in, and the music of Ny’ashia Akim carried her out into the cold Detroit night. She’d always loved Ny’ashia’s music, even before the popstar became augmented after a terrorist attack in Laos. Now she respected her bravery and candor in the face of a world that was so staunchly anti-aug. It reminded Charlie of the way her mother had handled her augmentations, before she’d died.

It was a ten minute walk to the subway station, and Charlie kept her hand clasped firmly around the small taser in her coat pocket the entire time. Neither DFP offices nor her apartment were in the best parts of town - far downtown from the wealthier districts that housed Sarif Industries HQ. She may not encounter anyone at all, this late at night - or she may encounter any number of dangerous criminals. As a young woman who’d spent her whole life in and around the rougher parts of Detroit, she was keen and street-savvy. No matter where she went she was vigilant, on alert, coiled and ready to strike. She had a 10mm pistol in her desk at home. It wasn’t fair that a girl like her - a normal girl, a journalist - had to live with violence so at the forefront of her mind, but it was the sad reality of life in modern Detroit. For anyone who wasn’t rich, at least.

Blessedly, she encountered nobody on the way to the subway station, and after a quiet monorail ride she encountered nobody else from the station to her apartment building. Side from the prostitutes who lined the alleyways, scantily clad in bright colors like tropical birds of paradise parading for a mate. Charlie nodded at them in greeting as she passed, and they regarded her through narrow eyes and cigarette smoke. She fumbled in her pocket for her keyring - few buildings in Detroit still had mechanical locks. Everything was electronic now. Her apartment building was just that old. It was a little charming, she had to admit. Charlie had always had a fondness for the trappings of the old world.

Inside, her apartment was dark, save the dim glow of her computer screens on standby. Before she could even flip the lights on, a small furry creature was flitting about her ankles and mewing frantically. The lights revealed it to be a black cat, who continued weaving in and out of Charlie’s feet as she shed her bag and jacket. Charlie picked up the cat and scratched it’s ears affectionately. The cat wore a collar with a small nametag. _Ivy_ was written there, in cursive script.

“Hey, baby. Give me a minute and I'll feed you, okay?"

Charlie’s apartment was small - a studio, the most she could afford - and not the tidiest. Truthfully, she had little patience for chores, and kept it just clean enough to be livable. It was cozy, though, and full of personal touches. She’d clearly made it her own. A full mattress was tucked into the corner, the bedding disheveled. The walls were given a personal flair with posters from her favorite movies and pieces of art - _Le Chat Noir_ , naturally. One corner of the room was taken up entirely by a mess of electronics, three monitors fanned out on a desk, stacks of casing, and jumbled tangled tentacles of wire. Her kitchen was small, little more than a claustrophobic square of tile lit dimly by a bare light fixture. Without removing her jacket or bag, she walked into the kitchen and grabbed a glass out of the sink. It was clean enough - and her glasses were only ever used for one thing - but she rinsed it out anyway. Four cubes of ice, vodka from under the sink to an inch below the rim. A splash of flat soda. She closed her eyes and drank deep like it was the ocean and she was the desert. Something switched off inside of her, and for the first time in 18 hours she didn't feel so acutely the gnawing ache of isolation. She shed the trappings of the outside world, fed her cat from a tin can, and tore the lid off a styrofoam cup of instant noodles.

She walked over to her desk with dinner and drink and woke the computer. The screens illuminated half the room in a wash of cold blue electronic light - the other half was lit softly by the warm orange luminescence of the Detroit city lights outside of her window. Her desk was cluttered, but two items in particular stood out - a pile of darts, red and green, and a small framed photo of her and her mother. In the photo, Charlie was young, around 14. Freckle-faced, smiling wide unashamed of the braces that twinkled in her mouth as she held on tight to her mother. The photo was from before her mother got sick. She was always beautiful, up until the very end, but the illness did take a toll on her body. She took another long drink.

She tied her hair back, and slurped her instant noodles with disposable chopsticks as she opened up the program she’d left running while she was at work. With some clever social engineering (her favorite phrase for making herself feel better about lying and scheming,) she’d received the email address of an office administrator at the VersaLife branch that completed the nanite experiments to cure AIDS in mice. Then it was a simple matter of running her cracking program, with some parameters based on information she’d gathered from the employee’s public records and social media pages, and… yep. She had a password, and a way in to their secure email server. Her eyes lit up and she scrolled through the admin’s emails - an office administrator was privy to every piece of office communication. It’s why Charlie had targeted them in particular. If she looked long enough - and if her instincts were right - she was _bound_ to find something about the nanite experiments. Maybe. She hoped. By this time, she had mastered quick but thorough reading - a quick scan over every single word, only looking for specific keys or triggers. It only took her a few minutes to find what she was looking for, in the sent mail folder. The email was dated May 13th, 2027 - _six months ago_ , six months before the AIDS cure was announced.

 

 

 

 

**_RE: Clarification?_ **  
**_FROM: a_lovelace@versalife.org_ **  
**_TO: h_baker@versalife.org_ **

_Hank,_

_Thanks for reaching out. Just to confirm, we are putting the mice project on hold for the time being.. I know your team has been working hard and has made an amazing discovery, but this is an order directly from Mr. Page. When the time is right, we will proceed, and you will get your chance to share your work and celebrate. Now is not that time. Additionally, he requested that we divert all nanite researchers to a new project. We’ll need security clearance and background checks for all your lab techs, if you want to get the ball rolling on that. This is a very exciting opportunity to be working directly with Mr.Page - I know some of your staff may be discouraged after the halting of the mice project at such a crucial stage. If you can spin it as an opportunity for something bigger and better (which it is) we should be able to keep morale up. Thanks for your cooperation._

_Ashely Lovelace_  
_Office Manager_  
_VersaLife Biotech Division_

**_h_baker@versalife.org wrote:_ **

_> Ashley,_

_> What’s going on? My staff is getting restless. We’ve cured AIDS in mice. This is a one of the biggest medical discoveries of the century - it >should be all over the news, we should be doing interviews and conferences and presenting our work all over the world. We want to celebrate, >at least, but corporate has us on a muzzle, and now we’re hearing rumors that we’re shutting down the whole program. I trust you guys, I do. I >just need to know what to tell my employees. Please get back to me ASAP._

_> Hank Baker_  
_> Medical Research Lead_  
_> Versalife Biotech Division_

Charlie’s heart leapt and her hands shook as she quickly copied the email to a thumb drive and took screenshots. She hadn’t actually expected to find anything real… not like this, at least. Nothing so explicit. _Jesus_ , this was a headline. This was insane. This could be _dangerous_. She pushed her chair back from her desk and scrubbed her face with her hands. For certain she was exhilarated, flush with excitement that she’d actually found something meaningful she could publish, satisfied that her intuition was right. But there was a dread pit in her stomach, and it churned with anxiety when she thought of the repercussions of actually publishing what she had discovered.

Once again, her eyes turned to rest on the photo of her mother. Sarif Industries had changed both of their lives when they’d implanted one of their first Rebreathers into her mother. One of her lungs was being eaten alive by cancer cells. The augmentation allowed her to live, and for a while all they could do with their lives was rejoice in that. But as time went on, some things just didn’t add up. After they performed a biopsy, they could tell that the cancer had come from an environmental source - exposure to a certain chemical that was instrumental in the creation of a certain computer component of which Charlie’s mother had produced fifty-thousand units of in the past fifteen years of employment at a Page Electronics manufacturing plant. It was clear, the doctors said. Her cancer was caused by her work. She had a case, and should pursue it, if not for the case of future employees. After some time of careful consideration, they both decided to proceed with legal action against Page Industries, LLC. Two weeks after filing the suit, Charlie’s mother was found dead in her home under ‘mysterious circumstances’ - meaning she was clearly murdered, taken out by trained professionals, but for some reason (likely that they were under the thumb of Page Industries, too,) the police refused to investigate it at such. Or investigate it at all. It was brushed aside as an accident - no foul play. The woman was older, and sick, and clearly she did have a good case and was an actual threat. Enough of a threat that she needed to be eliminated, quietly. More and more employees came forward later, a class action suit was filed, and they couldn’t kill _all_ those people. They removed the carcinogenic chemical from their production line, but Charlie’s mom was already dead. Charlie _knew_ … she knew. Her mother was a victim, who threatened to speak out about those who victimized her, and she was killed for it. Page himself may or may not have had anything to do with it directly, but he was the shadowy figure at the helm of that ship. He was the king on the throne, and kings didn’t like to have their reign threatened, even by the lowliest peasant.

Charlie chewed on her lip nervously. Really, there was no question about it. She _would_ go public with this, and she _would_ continue to relentlessly seek out and expose any cracks in the giant mega-conglomerate, no matter how small. She had to - for her mother. There was no faltering in her dedication, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a little scared. She knew firsthand the lengths Page and his ilk were willing to go to silence the voices that rose up against them. It was likely that she was putting herself directly in harms way. Ivy jumped into her lap, nuzzled up against her chin. This was the only living creature in the world that would actually be impacted by her death. No family save a distant aunt who she'd never been close to, and had no desire to be. No _real_ friends - Charlie was a friendly girl and on good terms with all of her peers at work. But she was deeply withdrawn and feared attachment in a way that made it difficult for her to form any friendships beyond the superficial level. It was like she wanted it so bad she convinced herself she didn't because she couldn't face the rejection of trying and failing. Never seemed to have that problem with men - in the past four years she'd tried on and discarded (or been tried on and discarded by) a catalogue of boyfriends. It was always the same. She simultaneously had too thick a shell and too strong a desire to penetrate others. The men who weren't emotionally unavailable and disarmed by her devotion grew discouraged after trying to get close to her and being met with a cagey sort of fear and avoidance. By pouring herself so completely into another she didn't have to deal with herself, and the men who could take it expected some sort of reciprocity, while the men who were content to let themselves be poured into filled up and overflowed too fast. Besides that, her mercurial and self-destructive nature was amplified by her drinking, and made her evasive and maddening in her moods, disappearing from the lives of men with no explanation for no reason other than that she could. She had been without any romantic entanglements, without any meaningful relationships, for going on a year now. She did not expect anything to change, except for to get worse. She had no reason to value her own life because her life was not valued by anyone else. The most she could hope for now was that she could make some sort of meaningful difference in the world through her work, that she could bring some truths to light, pull the top off conspiracies and corruptions even if just for a moment. Even if she died for it. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

She spun her chair around and tossed the dart, in one smooth motion. On the opposite wall, a photo of Bob Page was pinned up, torn haphazardly out of a finance magazine. He had that look moguls so often do - not smiling, but smugly self-satisfied. Confident, unshakeable. The photo was already peppered with darts, but none came close to center. Her aim wasn’t the best, but the activity soothed her. This one hit him square in the shoulder - the closest she’d got thus far. Satisfied, she switched off her computer and went to bed. Tomorrow would be a big day.

 


	3. Crystallized

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie gets word of the terrorist attacks at Milwaukee Junction and foolishly dives into the scene, eager to dig up any dirt on the anti-aug organization Purity First. She finds herself ensnared by dangerous government secrets, and entangled with a certain mechanically augmented ex-cop fresh off of sick leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks very much to those who have left kudos and comments so far! :)

 

* * *

 

 

Adam spent a lot of time getting to know his new augmentations before he was allowed to go home, and the doctors who installed them made sure that he understood very thoroughly what his new body could do. They ran through a checklist. They showed him how to expel and retract the nanoceramic blades implanted in his forearms. They explained to him the strength in his arms - how he could punch through a wall, snap a man’s neck like a dry leaf, or pick up a vending machine if he wanted. They taught him how to hold his shoulders just right to activate the aim stabilizer, how to switch on his dermal armor or cloaking system so that in a moment he could become invisible or bounce bullets off his skin. They told him how his retinal prosthetics would highlight and track hostile targets, and how he was implanted with one of the first-in-use Typhoon Explosive Systems. He was quite literally a walking bomb. He should have realized then the extent to which he had truly been weaponized. He didn’t really feel it until the terrorist attacks at Milwaukee Junction. Sitting there in the helicopter with David, called out of medical leave to ‘handle a situation,’ adjusting the straps of his combat harness with mechanical fingers - his new role was clear. He was a fixer. He was a tool. Once he’d been the long arm of the law - now he was the long (cybernetic) arm of Sarif Industries.

“There are hostages.” Anyone else might have thought David was shouting to be heard over the noise of the helicopter - Adam knew that was just how he talked, all the time. “Free ‘em if you can, but the Typhoon is your _number one_ priority. We developed it for the alphabet agencies, and if we don’t deliver it to them intact and still a secret, well…. I’m sure you’ll get the job done right.”

_Get the job done right._ Retrieve the weapon first, save the hostages second - _if_ you can. Something snagged inside of him, a memory of a feeling, of being ordered by a superior to do something he disagreed with fundamentally. That was a past life. He was new now. Stronger, faster, smarter. _Augmented_. He could do better than he’d done before.

“I’ll get them both,” Adam growled low, clenching his jaw as the helicopter set itself down on the manufacturing plant’s rooftop.

 

* * *

 

  
Charlie was at home when her commlink buzzed. She tapped the screen to reveal a message from her editor, sent in a group chat to all the senior staff writers.

_**Edward** _  
_**05 September 2027 19:23pm** _

_**Terrorist attacks at Sarif plant Milwaukee Junction. Purists. Somebody get down there NOW!!!** _

She was up in an instant, tripping over her own feet as she tugged on her boots and grabbing her field bag with her jacket halfway on. As she frantically tried to get herself together and ready to leave, she hit reply all.

_**Charlie** _  
_**05 September 2027 19:24pm** _

_**Got it. There in five. THIS ONE’S MINE** _

“There in five” was an exaggeration - realistically it would be more like ten - but she wanted to make sure everyone else stayed away. None of her coworkers knew _why_ she was like this, but she did have a reputation for being the biggest bloodhound for Purity First on their team. Lately it felt like most of the work she did was on the anti-augmentation terrorist group - covering the atrocities they committed in the name of purity, seeking out and exposing corruption within the group (of which there was plenty,) generally publicly smearing their name in a rather relentless fashion. It was gaining a lot of traction for their paper - Charlie wasn’t the only person in Detroit, or America, with a family member who’d had their lives saved by augmentation. See, Purity First didn’t make a distinction between people who were voluntarily augmented and people who needed augmentations to live, who would’ve simply died before this technology was invented. It didn’t matter, of course - both groups of people deserved respect, no matter what. And to Purity First, both groups of people were abominations, monsters violently tearing down the very foundation of society. To say it made her blood boil would be an understatement. This story was _hers._

It was a short train ride to the manufacturing plant. She clutched her field bag close - it contained a small handheld camcorder, camera for taking stills, and voice recorder for interviews. Plus her stun gun, her 10mm, and a Detroit Free Press badge with a clip and a lanyard. It didn’t really mean anything, but it made her look more official, and sometimes that was all she really needed. She took it out and slid the lanyard over her neck on the train.

When she arrived, it was cold and windy. The scent of rain clung to the air, but the streets were dry - it would start soon. She was glad it hadn’t started yet - that meant there was a crowd of bystanders milling around outside police lines. It would make her stand out less - plus more people to question, in case officials were withholding as they often were. A gaggle of police vehicles bathed the crowd in flashing red as Charlie shouldered her way through. There must have been a dozen armored SWAT officers just standing there, shouldering their rifles, chatting idly.

Quickly, she gathered information from the crowd. The Purists had taken hostages - employees of the plant, and the manager - and had a bomb. SWAT had not yet moved in. This wasn’t entirely uncommon - hostage situations were delicate, and had to be considered carefully. It could be that they sent someone in to negotiate, or were waiting on orders from their commander. When Charlie tried to get the attention of one of the officers to ask for information, he was actively hostile. His exact words were ‘fuck off, lady.’ Neither was that uncommon - DPD didn’t take kindly to reporters, least of all Detroit Free Press. It may have had something to do with the story they ran on the Mexicantown riots. Charlie was responsible for that.

It was obvious she would get nowhere here. She quietly slipped out of the crowd, and off into a side alley where she wouldn’t be spotted by the police. She pulled out her commlink and was easily able to find a map of the plant’s exterior. Crowds and cops were gathered around the front entrance, predictably. She swiped the screen to zoom and rotate the 3D model of the plant. Generally, she looked for ladders or fire escapes to take her to the roof - a higher vantage point was always good. She could observe, and avoid being seen, and if she did need to get inside a situation, rooftops usually had discreet entrances. On the east side of the building was a loading dock - the second most obvious entry point, and therefore certainly patrolled by Purists. She wanted to find a story, not get herself killed. She narrowed her eyes as she spotted a fire escape on the west side. _Bingo_. There was her way up.

She moved quickly and quietly around the perimeter of the plant, under cover of darkness. Her boots clanged against the metal staircase as she scaled the fire escape, holding her breath. This was the most exciting part of her job, and also the scariest. It seemed she would go to progressively more extreme lengths to discover, observe, record, and expose the truth - but it never got less frightening. When she tossed herself headlong in to danger like this, she had to switch off the part of her brain that covered self-preservation and common sense. She subsided on pure adrenaline until she got what she needed to run a good story. Then, she crashed and vowed to never do it again - a resolution that never lasted very long.

The rooftop was a scattered mess of shipping crates, ventilation systems, and storage flats. For a moment she crouched and listened. No footsteps, no voices through radios, no movement of any kind. Her commlink told her there was a security office on the northeast end - almost certainly vacant in a situation like this. The rent-a-cop corporate security guards had likely been dispatched either by the terrorists, or SWAT. She moved from cover to cover, flitting behind the shipping crates, until she reached the security office. The door was open, chair pushed back from the desk like someone had gotten up and left in a real big hurry. Cautiously, she stood, and walked over to the security hub on the desk.

It was a quick hack - she’d seen security systems like this a thousand times before. Once she had access, she plugged her commlink in and immediately began downloading streams from the security cameras. They were instantly transmitted to her PC back home, and her computer at work. There was also a complete map of the interior of the plant, which she downloaded and kept pulled up on her commlink for easy access. It was then that she turned her attention to the security camera feeds. She saw the hostages - gathered in a meeting room, tied and gagged. The bomb was small, and sat on a table. It looked like it had an electronic lock panel. Flipping through the feeds, she noticed two other very interesting things.

The first was a man who seemed to be sneaking his way through the shipping & receiving warehouse. He wasn’t SWAT, and he wasn’t a Purist. It seemed that he wasn’t simply dressed in black - he was _made_ of black. Through the grainy video feed she watched him slip in and out of shadow, evading the patrolling Purists, and she furrowed her brows. Instantly, she was intrigued. Maybe he was special ops? Maybe he was who they sent in to negotiate for the hostages? She didn’t think he was another journalist - he had the bearings of a soldier, or a cop, or some sort of combat operative. She couldn’t tell where he was going, or why, but she felt compelled to watch him. She was entranced. Hours could have passed without her noticing - through the screen he stalked, quick and efficient, every movement fluid and strong and gracefully confident. He weaved between pallets stacked high, crouched and spun and used the environment to his advantage. Then, one of the Purists spotted him, turned their head at just the right instant to see him slip around a corner. Charlie watched the terrorist raise his rifle, his body language screaming alarm, and turn to investigate. The mysterious man waited around the corner, and Charlie’s breath was caught in her lungs. It was hard for her to see exactly what happened, but she saw the terrorist fall to the ground amidst a spray of blood. The mysterious man had hardly moved. Charlie felt like she’d just swallowed an ice cube. The blood drained from her face, the trance shattered, and she turned her attention to another one of the feeds.

This one appeared to show a server room of some sort - in the corner of the feed, small digital lettering told her **FACTORING LABS**. A single man stood in the middle, dressed in Purist garb, standing at a console in front of a weapons locker. He was bald, and so she could clearly see the network cables jacked into his head.

“ _Holy fucking shit,_ ” Charlie whispered to herself. If he was jacked directly into his skull, that meant he was augmented. She had seen so much corruption in Purity First, but never had she seen an augmented member. It was beyond hypocritical. It would destroy the organization - confirm the views of those who opposed them, and most importantly, discredit them among those who supported them. _This is it._ She had to get closer, get clear video and stills. Her heart was in her throat as she took a few screens of the camera feed, located the factoring labs and marked them on her map, and unplugged her commlink from the security hub. It wasn’t what she expected - it was more, so much more. It would take her into the interior of the plant - the middle of a nest of terrorists, an active hostage situation, no place for a reporter - but it would be worth it. For so long she’d wanted nothing more than to take down Purity First - now she had a way, right within her grasp. She just needed to grab it.

 

* * *

 

Adam didn’t pull any punches with terrorists, and he didn’t feel bad about killing them. For the most part, he was adept at evading them, but the occasional chance run-in was unavoidable. When that happened, he found that his new nanoceramic blades worked quite well for quickly and quietly dispatching a man in close quarters. They retracted with a satisfying metallic _vzzzt_ , flicking blood away before they settled back in to his forearms.

He entered Milwaukee Junction through the roof, and made his way through shipping & receiving with only one casualty. Pritchard in his ear - _fucking_ Pritchard running comms, like there wasn’t a single other person who could do it - told him when he first entered that the Typhoon was in the factoring lab, through the assembly labs. As Adam neared the assembly labs, Pritchard buzzed over his infolink to tell him that someone had somehow changed the protocols of the assembly lab lock system, and his override codes weren’t working. Adam would have to hack the door manually. Colorful words were exchanged - it was Pritchard’s job to ensure that stuff like this never happened, and since Pritchard was so eager earlier to remind Adam about how he’d failed at his job during the attack on Sarif labs, Adam took the opportunity to gleefully berate Pritchard for failing at his job.

“You’re lucky I know how to do this,” Adam hissed as he hacked the electronic keypad. In his peripheral vision he saw a hand, black and mechanical, reach up to swipe the screen. He was startled for a moment, and adrenaline coursed violently through his veins, before he realized the hand belonged to him. He tried to calm the angry clattering of his heart in his chest. He hoped this stopped happening soon.

“Yes, I am. We’re all _so very lucky_ to be graced with your indomitable hacking skills.” Sarcasm dripped from Pritchard’s words, as it so often did. Adam was too shaken to respond in kind, and ignored him. The lock was hacked, and the door to the assembly labs slid open.

He’d been avoiding engaging with the Purists so far, but this lab was full of them, and he was irritated at Pritchard and on edge from being startled by his own hand. He had neither the patience nor the desire to sneak around them now. With a concussion grenade and a combat rifle, from the top of the stairs, he dispatched the six purists who patrolled the area. As their bodies cooled on the floor, he made his way through the lab. It was scattered with disembodied cybernetic body parts, half-assembled and deconstructed on tables, various parts and components tossed around. The same parts and components that made up over half of his body now. It was eerie, and a painful reminder of the strange form he now inhabited. He pushed through, took an elevator down to the factoring labs, and hacked a security hub to disable a turret. He hoped Pritchard was watching. His retinal display showed his target as a room down the hallway, through the labs. As he was within feet of the door, he heard a gunshot, and he cursed under his breath.

Adam threw the door open with his combat rifle raised, and his retinal display scanned the situation. There was the Purist who had been attempting to steal the Typhoon - slumped on the ground, his brains sprayed against the server next to him. A pistol was sliding out of his slack fingers, and he had network cables plugged in to his head. He’d been attempting to hack the Typhoon’s security system, and he must have had a neural hub, a wet-drive that allowed him to connect directly to the system. Adam watched the man’s vital signs drop off - he was dead. Standing in front of the dead hacker was a woman. She was small in stature, dressed mostly in black - simple, utilitarian. Not the ornate fashions that were popular with the upper class, but neither police nor military. In her left hand she held a small camcorder, and in her right hand she held a stun gun. Blonde hair was hastily tied back, and glasses with square black frames perched on her nose atop a smattering of freckles. Her lenses were splattered in the blood of the dead hacker, and when she wiped it away, Adam could see her eyes. Pale grey-blue, wide, and _terrified_. He felt staggered, momentarily. She was bright, beautiful, _blinding_ \- he had to fight the urge to shield his eyes. Adam’s entire world was dark and dingy and full of cynical people. It seemed she radiated some innocence, some openness, an unaffected air of genuine vulnerability. Like a diamond in a garbage heap - a very frightened diamond in a garbage heap. Whoever she was, she’d never seen a man shoot himself in the head before. She turned to look at Adam, up the rifle he had aimed squarely at her, and she stepped back and raised her hands. She moved numbly, like she was in a daze.

“Who are you?” He meant to bark it out, like an order, like he’d done back in his SWAT days. It came out softer than he wanted. She didn’t look like a threat, _god_ she didn’t look like a threat, but he had a job to do.

“Charlie Winters, Detroit Free Press.” The woman’s voice was hollow, detached, and she passively held up a press ID that was on a lanyard around her neck. Like it actually meant something. Adam cocked an eyebrow - it seemed this woman was very far out of her depth. By the way she kept on mumbling frantically, she realized it too. “I didn’t… I just wanted some stills for the paper, he just shot himself, I had no idea…”

He lowered his gun. “You’re a reporter?”

She nodded.

“So you got that all on camera?” With his rifle, he motioned towards the camcorder in her hand. She nodded again.

“Good. You’re coming with me.”

Adam stalked towards the dead hacker and knelt down as Charlie stumbled out of his way, tripping over her own feet. The gunshot had taken most of the man’s skull off. The augmented section of his brain was fully visible, grey matter and circuitboard intermixed. Adam yanked the network cables out of the man’s head, and buzzed Pritchard through his infolink.

“Pritchard, you still there?”

“Where _else_ would I be, Jensen?”

Adam quelled the anger boiling up in his throat.

“Patch me to Sarif, _now_.”

The woman had pressed herself against the far wall, and she watched as Adam unlocked the console the Purist had been trying to hack. With an audible click, the door to the weapons locker popped open.

“Adam, it’s David. You got the Typhoon?”

“Yeah.” Adam answered brusquely as he reached in the locker and pulled out a sturdy case. He turned his gaze back to the dead hacker. “But you were right about there being something more behind this. Because I’ve got a dead ‘purist’ in here with some pretty interesting cerebral implants. And a civilian. A reporter. She’s gotten the entire thing on tape. And… she’s seen the Typhoon.”

Charlie watched him nervously. It was the man made of black from the security camera feeds. She may have been in shock, but her deductive reasoning skills still worked - this was Adam Jensen. She knew the name, and there was a face she recalled with it, but it wasn’t the face she saw here. And she couldn’t hear the voice on the other side of his infolink, but there was only one man named Sarif that she knew of.

“Shit, what the hell was a reporter doing in there? She shouldn’t have been able to get that far in to the facility. Take her with you, we’ll need to review her footage, and we can’t just let her go if she’s seen the Typhoon. That’s a government secret. As for the Purist, don’t touch him. We’ll need an expert to recover his neural hub, in case it’s booby trapped.”

“Copy that. What about Sanders?”

“SWAT is pressuring me to let them off the leash. Find him before they do and deal with him.”

_Fucking SWAT_. They were condescending assholes to him when he first entered the plant. Pretty much all of DPD hated him, after Mexicantown.

“Alright,” Adam turned to Charlie. “Come with me. My employer will want to review your footage and ask you some questions.”

“Your employer? David Sarif?”

“Yes. Come on, we have to go. You can ask questions later.”

Charlie nodded and put her camcorder and stun gun back in her bag with trembling hands. She was covered in the hacker’s blood - the heat of it was unreal. It seemed to burn through her clothes, and a wave of nausea overcame her. In a daze, she followed the man through the winding hallways and open labs of the facility. There were dead Purists everywhere. She hated them, _god_ she hated them, and the entire reason she’d gotten herself into this fucked up situation is because she wanted to bring them down so badly, but… she’d only ever seen one dead body before - her mother’s - and she wasn’t prepared for all the blood. She tried not to look directly at the men laying face-up, or slumped against walls, limp and lifeless with far-distant eyes. She was too distracted to realize that Adam was backtracking through the facility. The two crawled through a vent, and emerged into the room where the hostages were held.

She was overwhelmed as instantly a dozen muffled voices rang out, screaming for help as hard as they could through duct tape. The hostages were all seated, with their hands and ankles bound, and they thrashed and kicked as Charlie and Adam entered the room.

“Untie them,” Adam commanded, and handed Charlie a switchblade from his belt. Her hands were shaking so badly she didn’t know how she could, but she nodded mutely and hurried over to the nearest hostage. As Adam began to hack the keypad lock on the bomb, she hastily cut the nylon cords binding each hostage. As their hands were free, they ripped the duct tape off their own mouths and thanked their savior. Charlie didn’t know how to respond. With a mechanical hiss, Adam disarmed the bomb successfully. The hacker’s blood was cooling on her skin, and the world seemed distant and muted, like a dream. In the background, she heard Adam firmly telling the hostages to stay calm, that police would be by to take them to safety soon. He spent time reassuring one man, the plant manager’s husband, that he would rescue the man’s wife from the Purist leader. She’d never heard a voice like his before. Deep, hoarse, abundant with breath and power, weathered like a rock in the desert bleached by wind and sun. It filled her, centered her, and when he ordered her to follow him once more it cut razor-sharp through the heady blur of her world.

They moved swiftly back through the rest of the plant, passing through the employee offices. The walls were covered in violent graffiti, angry red slurs sprayed everywhere she looked. They began to ascend a stairwell - he was taking them back to the roof. Suddenly, as they rounded the corner on the second level, Adam threw his arm out to stop her. Charlie gasped - she’d been too dazed to notice it before, and assumed he was just wearing some sort of combat armor. The arm in front of her was fully augmented and _dazzling_ , carbon black polymer glinting like steel in the low light, muscles finely sculpted. Bolt ports marked bicep, elbow, and wrist, and an elegantly actuated mechanical hand fanned itself out signaling _caution_. He crouched behind a planter, and tugged her down with him. She pressed herself against the wall and watched him with wide eyes, focusing on the black mass of his shoulders as he peered out from cover and fired three shots with his combat rifle. Charlie flattened her hands against her ears - gunshots so close were louder than she expected, so loud it hurt. It seemed he had good aim - every shot he made landed true, and his way of killing was efficient. Once he made sure the coast was clear, he pulled her forward and up the stairs once more. His hand around her wrist was firm, but surprisingly gentle, and the polymer was colder than flesh but warmer than metal.

After another set of offices, they reached the plant manager’s office - highest in the building, closest to the roof. Charlie was breathless, her heart clattering painfully against her ribcage. Adam pulled her aside in front of the office door.

“Are you okay?”

It was the first time he’d looked directly at her. His eyes were covered by dark quartz lenses that seemed to originate from the dermal augmentations on his temples. All she could see was her own reflection - disheveled and frazzled, covered in blood and sweat and dirt, scared shitless. Forty-five minutes ago she had been at home, enjoying a quiet evening with Ivy. She was never one to shy away from danger if it meant a great story, but this was far beyond anything she’d ever done. She was having a hard time properly assessing the magnitude of the shit she’d gotten herself in to this time. She took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded.

“Good. Wait here, and be quiet. Their leader is in this room, and he’s taken the plant manager hostage. I’ll have to talk him down, and…” his voice faltered. “I don’t want anything to go wrong. I’ll come get you when the situation is under control. Don’t move.”

He turned to enter the office, and Charlie clutched her hand against her chest.

“Good luck,” she whispered without thinking. She didn’t see the half-grin that sprung up on his face as he walked into the office.

From the hallway, she could hear him negotiating with the terrorist leader, their tense conversation peppered with the frightened screams and whimpers of the hostage plant manager. He was… remarkable. Charlie considered herself of the silver tongue, and was adept at talking her way out of dangerous situations, but Adam was on a whole different level. He knew exactly when to reason with logic, and exactly when to appeal to emotion. With every word she could feel the tension in that room dissipating, even from outside. He was a professional, in every way - it was likely that his SWAT background afforded him extensive training in negotiation techniques and tactical speaking. It seemed only a matter of moments before he’d come to retrieve her and lead her through the office. The plant manager, Josie Thorpe, was huddled in the corner - traumatized, but very much alive. Adam stopped and took a moment to comfort her, to tell her that her husband was safe and they would be together soon. Charlie watched him with warmth in her eyes, and tried very hard to wipe her expression clean when he turned back to her.

“Did the cops take him already?”

“No,” Adam shook his head. “Out the back. Cops won’t be taking him tonight.”

Adam pushed open the door to the rooftop terrace. He was speaking to someone on his infolink, but the wind carried his words away from her ears so she couldn’t make them out. The wind stung, and she hugged herself to keep it out. It was starting to rain - just a fine mist on the breeze.

“Wait, what do you mean? He escaped? How?”

Adam took long strides, and she was practically running to keep up with him.

“He didn’t escape. I let him go. He didn’t know anything about the augmented hacker - it was a set-up. Someone bigger played us both trying to get to the Typhoon.”

_The Typhoon._ Of course. There was no point in him being secretive about it any longer - she’d already seen the extremely classified government-ordered weapon. She’d already dug herself in to this hole - she had no idea what would happen to her now. And all for nothing - the story was bunk. The terrorists didn’t realize they’d been infiltrated by an aug. She’d expose no hypocrisy by publishing what she’d found now - if anything, she’d make the terrorists look more sympathetic and confirm the paranoid fear of all anti-aug Purity First supporters. She should’ve felt bitter disappointment, but something strange was softening the blow. She followed Adam up the rooftop terrace to… Sarif’s private security helicopter. Of course.

As they approached the helicopter, a _beautiful_ woman with short dark hair wearing a flight suit approached them.

“Jensen,” she nodded at Adam warmly. “You made a lot of people happy tonight, and not just the men in suits.”

“It’s what they pay me for.”

“No, they pay you to put corporate interests ahead of people. You found a way to satisfy everyone. Guess Doctor Reed was telling the truth about you.”

Suddenly, Charlie had the strange and distinct feeling that she was privy to a private conversation. Adam’s shoulders stiffened and he was silent for a beat, and it was only then that the dark-haired woman looked over Adam and saw the frazzled blonde behind him.

“Who’s this?”

Charlie stepped forward and held out her hand.

“Charlie Winters, Detroit Free Press.”

The dark-haired woman eyed Charlie, bewildered mirth sparkling in her eyes. Charlie did realize that her barefaced confidence was a little out of place in the current situation, but it was old reporter habit. No matter where she was, or what was happening around her, Charlie would _always_ proudly introduce herself with a strong handshake and friendly eye contact. The woman smiled and shook her hand.

“Faridah Malik, I fly this thing. She comin’ with us, Jensen?”

“Yeah. She has some footage that the boss needs to see.”

Faridah opened the hatch and waved the two of them inside. Charlie had never ridden in a helicopter before. In the small space she sat across from Adam, their knees almost touching and their heads bowed, and tried very hard not to show how frightened she was.

“You’re Adam Jensen.”

He raised his head.

“I didn’t recognize you earlier, but… I was at Mexicantown. Covered it for my paper. DPD hates us now, but I was there. I saw what happened, and I couldn’t print the lies they were feeding us. You did the right thing. It’s good to meet you.”

She held out her hand, and he stared mutely. In recovery, and on sick leave, he’d played out this potential scenario in his head a thousand times. A friendly handshake, part of everyday life, something completely innocuous. Charlie’s hand was petite, dusted with freckles, nails bitten down short with chipped paint, undeniably _flesh_. He raked his thumb across his knuckles, feeling the smooth polymer and mechanical joints. Would she cringe, would she flinch, would she hesitate? So many nights he lay awake, fraught with anxiety over his new body and the way the world would react to it, and now he was come to face with it. After a moment, and with some trepidation, he raised his hand and shook hers. She kept her eyes trained on his face, and if she felt any disgust or fear or revulsion when the cold polymer of his palm slid against hers, she did not show it in any way. She was unflinching, no different than when she’d shaken Faridah’s hand. She smiled, and Adam felt the knot in his stomach slack a little.

“So, do you regularly infiltrate active hostage situations just for the big scoop?”

Charlie laughed nervously.

“I mean, I’ve done some stupid stuff… but never anything like this. I just hate Purity First, a lot.”

“Stupid is right. If SWAT had come in before I did, they would have arrested you.”

“Well,” her voice lilted and a playful smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Lucky for me you’re not SWAT. You’re better.”

Adam couldn’t help himself. He shook his head and laughed low. As Faridah carried them back through the black of Detroit night to Sarif HQ, Charlie had a chance to catch her breath for the first time, and she felt somehow comforted by Adam’s presence. She’d known of him, indirectly, to be a man ferociously dedicated to doing what was right - she saw him prove that tonight, going well out of his way to help the people who needed him, not just the people who paid him. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his head hanging down, and she let her eyes travel slowly across his form. She’d never seen a man like him before - darkly beautiful, coursing with raw power, strength and struggle worn plainly on his face. She bit her lip and felt her heart pressing against her throat; she was curiously unable to take her eyes off of him.


	4. The way that you act in the light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie is taken back to Sarif Industries HQ to speak with David, and the conversation gets a little tense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO! finally finished this chapter! TW for mentions of parent death and dysphoria

 

David Sarif had aged well, and his facilities with him. When Charlie and her mother had met him 13 years ago, he was in a modest office, a little soft around the edges. Now, as Charlie walked in to his opulent new office with Adam at her side, she saw a man refined and matured, hewn to a sharp gunmetal edge by the rich experiences of a distinguished life. It was nearing midnight, and Charlie felt like she was falling apart - splattered with blood, hands and knees dirty from crawling through vents, hair in disarray, glasses smudged and scratched. In front of David, in this beautiful place, it was all so much more stark. The things she’d been through in the past two hours… it all seemed so unreal, like a strange fever dream. She was beginning to wake up.

David stood from his desk as they walked in the room and strode to meet them, focused and businesslike.

“Adam! This the journalist you found with the Typhoon?”

“Yeah, boss. She’s got some footage for you.”

As David grew nearer, he squinted at Charlie, a spark of recognition igniting in his eyes. She’d expected this, but wouldn’t let herself count on it.

“Charlotte? Little Charlotte Winters? Is that you?”

Charlie smiled graciously and stepped forward to shake his hand.

“It’s Charlie now. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me, Mr. Sarif.”

Adam cocked an eyebrow as David greeted Charlie warmly. In the early days, David worked _very_ closely with the recipients of his augmentations and their families, especially those receiving cutting-edge or experimental augmentations. It was a long process. For an entire year, David was a part of Charlie’s family, and he saved her mother’s life. It was hard for her to accurately describe how high a regard she had always, and would always, hold David Sarif in.

“Wait, you two know each other?”

“Her mother got one of my first-ever lung augmentations,” David beamed. “And of course I _remember_ you, but I hardly recognize you! God, what’s it been? Thirteen years? You were just a girl - you’re all grown up now. How is your mother doing?”

“She passed away four years ago,” Charlie said sadly, with the bearing that all children who have lost a parent have - like she was so used to telling people that it became second nature, but never less heartbreaking. David’s face fell, and Charlie quickly scrambled to pick up the pieces. “ _Unnatural_ causes, though. Nothing to do with her illness, or her lung. She lived many more happy years than the doctors said she would, thanks to you.”

“What happened?” David asked, clearly stricken.

Charlie bit her lip. She felt herself teetering on a dangerous threshold - it was hard for her to answer truthfully without spouting off into the deep end of conspiracy theories and bitter anger, but she didn’t she want to lie or mince words with the man who’d done so much for the woman in question. If anyone deserved to know the truth, it was David - the problem was, even Charlie herself had no truth. She landed on a middle ground.

“My mother was the victim of a senseless crime.” Her voice grew cold, hard, stone and steel as she spoke. “No one was ever tried for it. No one was ever even suspected of it.” For a beat there was silence, solemn and reverent, and then Charlie cleared her throat and began digging for something in her bag.

“Here.” she brandished her camcorder, holding it out towards David. “The footage you need to see.”

David played it back on a screen several feet wide and just as tall. She couldn’t watch it, and turned her eyes away, but she couldn’t block out the sound, either. Electronic beeps and tics filled the background as the hacker’s voice crackled low and weak. _Help me_ … and then a gunshot. She would never forget the look in that man’s eyes as he raised the gun to his head - he was terrified. He wasn’t acting of his own free will. He was hostage, a prisoner, captive in his own mind. David raised his mechanical hand and raked gunmetal fingers across the stubble on his cheeks as the video playback bathed his face in cold blue light. Charlie saw his eyes, sunken and dark, narrow shrewdly as he attempted to process the information presented to him. After the hacker had shot himself Charlie was shocked, and nearly dropped her camera. The video lurched and spun, flitting about the wall and ceiling, and just offscreen Charlie’s breathing grew frightened and ragged. In the distance, the door opened behind her, and Adam strode in. At his first words, the camera cut out, and static filled the screen.

David switched the video off with a weary sigh, and turned on Charlie. Before he even opened his mouth she knew she was to be scolded, and felt all at once like a petulant teenager caught in delinquency.

“So he shot himself? And you arrived just in time to see this happen? What were you planning on doing when you opened that door?”

Charlie’s face burned. She knew what she’d done was stupid, and to be forced to answer for it in front of the David Sarif… her shoulders crept up towards her ears defensively, as though she were trying to disappear into her own shell.

“I-I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I just knew I had to get a shot of him. Beyond that… I had no plan.”

“Look, I understand why you hate Purity First so much. Trust me, I hate them too. But you put yourself in the middle of a very dangerous situation - we hadn’t even sent SWAT in yet. We were trying to control the situation by sending in a trained professional,” David gestured at Adam, who stood with his arms crossed near the door, “first. This hacker had important information - we could have questioned him, and been better armed to fight the terrorists in the future. But we can’t question him now, because he shot himself, because you ambushed him.”

Charlie felt indignant tears stinging at her eyes. She was ashamed, and frustrated, and tired and frightened, and sick with worry. She wanted to throw herself at David’s feet and mumble-sob an incoherent chorus of apologies just as much as she wanted to turn on her heels and run home, hide away for a few days and forget the entire evening ever happened. She felt the ground lurch underneath her, and grasped the back of one of David’s fine high-backed leather office chairs for support. Adam saw her, and bristled where he stood.

“Boss, you saw the video. Something was up with that hacker - he wasn’t in control. He would’ve shot himself no matter who opened that door - whether it was me, or her. We would never have been able to get anything out of him, either way - except for what we’ll dig out of his neural hub.”

She looked at him as a wave of gratitude overcame her. He was unreadable, and she was beginning to sense that was just his way - how he always had been and always would be. His eyes were shuttered behind quartz lenses as dark and impenetrable as the particular plumes of smoke that only came from very destructive fires, and over half of his body was made of cybernetic material that didn’t need to twitch, breathe, fidget, or shift in the subconscious ways that biological bodies did to either hide or communicate emotional reactions. She could not tell why he seemed to be standing up for her - but she was infinitely glad for it. It didn’t seem to quell any of David’s anger, either way, but Charlie was less scared knowing that Adam was in her corner.

“Be that as it may, there are protocols involved. There’s a proper way to handle these situations. It was dangerous, illegal, and frankly irresponsible for you to go in there like that - and I’m sure your boss over at the paper wouldn’t condone or appreciate you compromising an active hostage situation just to bust Purity First.”

Charlie clenched her fists and spoke low.

“He wouldn’t have asked, and I wouldn’t have told.”

“Oh, so it’s that kind of newspaper?” She watched David’s eyes flash provocatively, and rage kicked up in her stomach. She took her hand off the back of the chair and placed it firmly on her hip, widening her stance and staring darkly at David. The last thing she wanted to do was trade verbal blows with the man, but nobody questioned her integrity like that.

“It’s the kind of newspaper that is completely dedicated to exposing hypocrisy and injustice _wherever_ it is, by _any_ means, at _any_ cost.”

She couldn’t stop her voice from rising in pitch and volume, couldn’t stop a shrill edge of hysteric anger from sharpening her words. David blinked and took a step back. Charlie’s rage lasted only a moment, and she deflated, scrubbing a hand across her face with an exasperated sigh.

“None of this matters, anyway. Purity First had no idea that hacker was augmented. They were infiltrated, and now I have nothing to publish.”

David regarded her for a moment, like a lion regards potential prey, trying to decide if the chase is worth the kill. His eyes dulled, more with disinterest than pity, and he turned to Adam.

“Yeah, I suppose Sanders told you that when you let him go. What in the _hell_ were you thinking, Adam? I sent you in there to take care of things!”

Adam had no visible reaction to David’s anger, not like Charlie did. He hardly moved from his perch against the wall.

“You asked me to deal with the situation, and that’s what I did.”

“I see. I’m also starting to see why your superiors in the police force decided to blame you for the Mexicantown riots. _Christ_ , Adam. I thought you were ready for this.”

_There we go._ The pressure in the room shifted, and Adam reacted to that one. He cocked his head, and Charlie could see his mechanical fingers dig in to the fabric of his black trench coat. Charlie sucked air sharply through her teeth - she didn’t know David or Adam that well, but she knew about Mexicantown, and even she knew that was just over the line. Adam had spoke up for her earlier - now it was her turn to return the favor.

“Sorry, but - what _exactly_ did you ask Adam to do when you sent him in? Did you ask him to capture the terrorist leader, or…?”

David didn’t like having his authority challenged, least of all by someone like Charlie.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but -“

Adam saw the opening Charlie had provided him, and used it.

“You asked me to retrieve the Typhoon, and rescue the hostages. Both of which I did, with _her_ help.”

Charlie’s eyes flashed like a sword being drawn from it’s sheath.

“So how did he not do exactly what you asked? We all know that Adam did the right thing at Mexicantown, so that was just uncalled for. And I know I don’t need to tell you that Sanders is more useful to you alive than dead. Whoever that hacker was working for played the purists just as much as they played Sarif Industries. I heard Adam negotiating with Sanders… trust me, no matter what Sanders may think of what your company does, he considers Adam his ally, for now, and that will come in very useful.”

The room was silent for a beat. Charlie was not in the best position to be speaking up against David like that, but she was right, and all three of them knew it. Adam watched her - fists clenched, cheeks puffed out, eyes angry little grey embers, all up in arms for the sake of a man she hardly even knew. Something strange felt like it was trying to tug the corners of his mouth up. _Curious_.

David didn’t enjoy being called out like that, and Adam watched the man’s nostrils flare and jaw clench as he grew angry. David’s eyes flicked back and forth between Adam and Charlie, both on the defensive, and he calculated. This was a battle he didn’t care to fight right now - there were larger issues at hand - and didn’t even know he would win. He yielded.

“Fine… _fine_. But when the time comes, he _will_ be arrested and tried for his crimes - and if we can’t do that, it’s on your head, Adam.”

His tone shifted - confrontation to negotiation.

“Now, Charlie… we made the Typhoon for the FBI and CIA. It’s a government secret, and you are now the _only_ person without security clearance who knows of it’s existence. You know I can’t let you walk out of here with knowledge like that.”

“A nondisclosure agreement is standard.” She stared at him blankly, with her arms crossed. She knew what he was getting at - but she wouldn’t take that bait.

“This situation isn’t standard.”

Charlie was getting flustered.

“So what, then? You can’t hold me against my will.”

“I know, which is why I’m hoping you’ll cooperate with me.”

The tone of David’s voice made it clear that her cooperation was not optional, and Charlie felt like she’d just swallowed an ice cube.

“I don’t want any bad blood with you, Charlie. You have to understand - these are highly classified government and military secrets we’re dealing with here. Look… we’re delivering the Typhoon in four days. In the meantime, I think I have something for you and Adam to look in to. Police reports are starting to trickle in from the incident, and… they don’t mention anything about the hacker being augmented. Not a single world.”

“Of course not,” Adam spoke low, tense. “Someone at DPD wants this covered up. But why?”

The wheels in Charlie’s head began to turn, and she caught the bone that David was throwing her.

“That hacker, or whoever he was working for, had something against Sarif Industries - and I’m willing to bet whoever is covering this up at DPD is on the same team. Corruption in the police force…”

“ _There’s_ something you can publish. You get your story, and I get reassurance that you won’t publish anything about or related to the Typhoon before we deliver it to our clients. I want you two to go down to the police station, recover the hacker’s neural hub, and see if you can find any other leads or information on who’s pulling the strings here.”

“You want me to go with him?” She turned to Adam, eyes wide. “Adam, is that okay with you?”

He nodded and stepped off the wall. Usually he preferred working alone - but he felt bad for the girl, and she hadn’t proved entirely unable to fend for herself. Besides, that crystalline feeling of implicit trust and pure _good_ he’d felt when he’d first laid eyes on her lingered, and he would never have admitted it, but he wanted her to stick around.

“You held your own back at Milwaukee Junction. Keep doing that, and we’ll be just fine.”

She flashed a smile, small and quick but dazzling just the same, and David began bustling around all business once more.

“For now, call her a cab. I’m keeping your cameras, Charlie, and I’m going to trust that you won’t do anything… ill-advised… before morning. Go home, get some sleep, wash up and change clothes… you can’t waltz in to the police station covered in blood. I’ll have Adam pick you up in the morning, and you two can pick up the trail then. And, Charlie… I’m sorry about your mother. She was a good woman, and didn’t deserve to die like that.”

Charlie accepted his condolences with a solemn nod, and followed Adam out of the office. He led her through Sarif HQ silently, only speaking to send for a car on his infolink. Fatigue was beginning to settle deep into her bones. She would have to call her editor in the morning and explain why she wouldn’t be at the office - senior staff writers were generally allowed to work either in the office or in the field as needed, as long as the story was worth it. _God_ , she hoped this story would be worth it. Sarif HQ’s entryway doors, the same smoked glass as Adam’s lenses, slid open with a smooth mechanical _whirr_ and they passed into the cold Detroit night. It smelled like rain, and everything was lit in amber, softly dripping honey luminescence over the streets and sidewalks. Charlie didn’t come to this part of town much. She’d never had much reason to, and never imagined she would, either. The cab was already waiting, and after handing the driver a credit chip, Adam held the door open for her.

“Hey.”

She was halfway in the car. She stopped, and looked up at him as he leaned over the top of the door.

“I’m sorry too. About your mother. Working here, sometimes, well… it’s nice to know that we do good, that we can do good, for normal people. Sometimes I feel like all we do is make weapons and craft killing machines - like me. David might think you’re stupid for diving straight into that Purist attack, but… I don’t. I understand why you did it.”

The white noise of the city droned on in the background - a quiet hive of bustling activity, a hundred thousand individual entities singularly focused on their own tasks, their own lives, their own struggles, their own paths. It seemed - for the moment, at least - these two entities found themselves at a crossing. Charlie looked Adam up and down, her gaze brazen and unguarded. She had thoughtful eyes, he saw, the process of each machination and musing clearly on display. He watched her weigh and measure him. It didn’t take long for her to come to a conclusion.

“You’re not a machine,” she said, quietly but firmly. She grabbed the door’s interior handle and began to pull it shut, forcing him to step back onto the sidewalk. He blinked, surprised - by her boldness, her words, and her conviction when she said them. He tried to tell himself the same thing over and over again every single night until raw physical exhaustion overpowered his brain and shut it off, but he never quite believed it. He still didn’t believe it, but… coming from her mouth, for the first time ever, it didn’t seem entirely outside the realm of possibility. As the door latched shut, the cab began to creep forward, turn signal blinking it’s intent to merge into oncoming traffic. She didn’t move, didn’t take her eyes off him. She watched him even as the cab joined the flow of traffic and sped off down the street - until she disappeared from view entirely he could see her face turned towards him, wide-eyed and determined, as though she were trying to send him a message.

_That night, Adam had a strange dream. He found himself standing on a hill, in some strange wilderness. It was nearing daybreak - the sun was not yet visible on the horizon, but it was leaking a soft blue light over the darkness. Lush emerald green, wild and untamed, stretched out in every direction, as far as his eyes could see. Detroit had public parks, but they were nothing like this - a sterilized square of meager grass and a few flimsy trees. This was nature, absolutely untouched by man - something that was never a part of most modern citizen's lives. Their world was steel and glass and circuitry - most people never saw actual _nature_ from the day they were born until the day they died. In front of him, the hill dipped down, and he could hear water running - a modestly sized creek, trickling over rocks and ravines, reflecting the cool blue light of pre-dawn. He looked down - he was naked, and augmented. It hurt, physically, even more so than usual, to look at his mechanical limbs in the midst of all this natural splendor. He felt disgusted with himself, more like an abomination than ever - and like the environment he found himself in was deliberately trying to alienate him. The beauty was sucked out of his surroundings, and what was left behind was a distinct feeling of sinister unease. His stomach churned, and he fell to his knees. His hands dug in to the ground, pulling up tufts of grass and chunks of dirt, and he was overwhelmed by a feeling he was all too familiar with. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin, to rip off his strange alien limbs, to find a new physical vessel for his soul and leave this one behind. It was constant, every moment of every day, droning low in the background - but right now it was so strong it was staggering, and he didn’t know if he wanted to throw up or cry. This body was _wrong_. He was _wrong_. Never should have come to be. _God I wish I had just died then.__

_Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream cut through the dawn chorus, echoing from the hills beyond over the water. Adam shot straight up, leaping quickly to his feet. It was a woman’s voice - a woman’s voice that he recognized even in a horrific shriek, and it made his blood run cold. _Megan_. He began to run towards the source of the sound, but as soon as he got to the creek at the bottom of the hill, he awoke in his bed drenched in cold sweat with his heart rattling in his chest._

 


	5. In Memoriam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Charlie discover that their working relationship can be both enjoyable and mutually beneficial as they investigate two separate police coverups - and Charlie finds herself directly in the crosshairs of a very dangerous group of people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infinite thanks to anyone who has read, left kudos, or commented thus far. I am enjoying writing this very much. Hope you all like this chapter.

 

 

  
They sent a car for Charlie in the morning.

Sleek, shiny, black, windows tinted nearly to the point of opacity. She’d seen cars like that before, in the rich districts, but…. she’d never ridden in one. The driver wore a suit and sunglasses, and a partition stamped with Sarif Industries logo separated them. It was the same logo stamped on to Adam’s forehead. If she had stopped thinking about him for a single moment, it would’ve called him to mind once again immediately - but she fell asleep with his voice in her ears and dreamt of shadowed eyes and black hands and golden wings. She wasn’t sure why - well, okay, that was a lie. She was deluding herself for propriety’s sake. She _was_ sure why. Quite simply, he was magnetic, and more than that he was a man of honor who did good. In the backseat of Sarif’s company car, she chewed on her bottom lip and toyed with a loose string at the edge of her sleeve. So much was uncertain right now - she felt as though she were standing on an earthquake, the ground itself shaking with tremors beneath her feet, out of her depth and hanging on by a very thin thread. One thing she _was_ sure of was that she was unlikely to drive the man from her thoughts anytime soon - not that she really wanted to.

The driver dropped her off at Sarif HQ. Detroit was so different in the daytime - the sun was much less forgiving than the soft amber glow of night. The pavement was dingy and, even in perhaps the nicest area of the metro, littered with trash. A select few buildings, like Sarif HQ and the Limb clinic, shone bright and tall and beautiful and well-maintained. But dilapidation was everywhere and the economy was tenuous. Most storefronts were shuttered off or crumbling, plastered with torn and tattered posters, long abandoned and fallen in to disrepair. Stepping in to Sarif HQ was like stepping in to a completely different world - she felt no less out of place there than she had last night, and the receptionist was unnervingly friendly. She directed Charlie to Adam’s office, up the stairs and around the corner.

Adam’s office was large, and lived-in. Stacks of books and paperwork, diagrams and blueprints and security plans scribbled hastily on electronic whiteboards, styrofoam coffee cups and sticky notes. It was the office of a man who worked hard and cared a lot about what he did. The door was open, and Adam was sitting at his desk speaking to a blonde man in a lab coat. Charlie halted at the door, but both men were already alerted to her presence.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she stammered. This would be her life now. Barging in where she didn’t belong. “The door was open, I didn’t realize… I’ll go wait in the-“

“No,” Adam stood up and pushed his chair back. “It’s okay, Mr. Carella was just leaving.”

The blonde man - Mr. Carella, apparently - looked like he neither planned on nor wanted to leave. He stayed seated and looked at Adam with a sort of pathetic, nauseated uncertainty. Charlie watched Adam get annoyed, his shoulders rising towards his ears as he leaned forward over his desk. In fact, Adam felt particularly irritable this morning. He’d spent the previous evening tossing and turning, long periods of staring dispassionately at the ceiling interspersed by brief windows of restless sleep punctured by especially unnerving dreams. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to drive away the fog of a night like that. Charlie’s presence was promising, however.

“Listen, Carella. I’ll do what I can, but I can’t make any promises. Now _get out_.”

The man left reluctantly, and refused to meet Charlie’s eyes as he walked past her.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s okay,” Adam waved a hand dismissively. Her heart leapt at the metallic gleam where flesh was expected. It would never get old. “Just another idiot wanting _me_ to clean up _his_ mess.”

Charlie sat herself across from him with a nervous little smile.

“I hope you don’t think of me like that.”

“No.” Adam answered firmly after only a moment’s hesitation. He eyed her with abject curiosity - the lenses were a blessing. He didn’t have to worry about his gaze making others uncomfortable. “You’re cleaning up your own mess. Speaking of… there’s a dead hacker waiting for us in the morgue. Shall we?”

“Well, how can a girl say no to that?”

In spite of himself, Adam grinned, and the two of them made their way to the police station.

On the way out, they were stopped on the steps of Sarif HQ by an older, blonde woman. Adam recognized her instantly, from a distance, and clenched his jaw. It was Megan’s mother - and she was approaching him. He’d always liked Mrs. Reed, and had no problem with her directly, but there was only one thing she could possibly want to speak to him about and it was not a topic of conversation he particularly cared to visit, _ever._

Charlie stood far behind Adam as he spoke to the woman - she knew well enough to recognize when a conversation was private, and from their body language she quickly deduced that the conversation was not only private, but personal as well. She saw in the woman some sort of nature of pleading - and she saw Adam’s fist clench at his sides, she saw him shift uncomfortably on his feet. Whatever the woman was asking him about - _for_ \- it was putting him under some sort of emotional strain. He returned to Charlie wordlessly and offered no explanation - merely lit a cigarette as they proceeded on foot towards the police station. They walked in silence for a few moments - and then, unprompted, he spoke.

“Her daughter was one of the scientists killed in the terrorist attack.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. She… she thinks the police are involved in some sort of coverup in the investigation into the scientist’s deaths.”

Charlie felt something roil inside her. “Hm.” Her mouth tensed itself into a hard line. “Wouldn’t be the first time DPD has swept important evidence under the rug.”

Adam cocked an eyebrow, an unspoken question, bidding for more. She pushed her glasses up on her nose - she had a hard time not talking about her suspicions surrounding her mother’s death even when she _wasn’t_ directly asked. There was no stopping her now.

“Well, you know my mother got a lung augmentation from your boss, right? One of the first. It’s because she got lung cancer, suddenly, after working in a Page Industries manufacturing plant for years. At the factory she worked in, they assembled a certain type of computer processor, using a certain type of epoxy. Anyway… they removed the cancer from her lung, she got augmented, and then a few months later… studies started coming out. Connecting that certain type of epoxy to lung cancer. They discontinued use of it in all manufacturing plants, and her doctors recommended she take legal action. She filed suit, but two weeks before the trial began she was found… dead on her living room floor.” Her voice cracked. “It took DPD one week to finish the investigation. No foul play suspected.”

“Jesus,” Adam muttered. “So you kinda know what it feels like, huh?”

“Yeah…” Charlie nodded bitterly. “And nobody should have to know what _that_ feels like.”

“How long ago was it? When she died?”

“About four years.”

A plume of cigarette smoke trailed behind the pair as they walked. She was heads shorter than Adam, and kept her face turned up towards him as she buried her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket.

“Storage drives are big nowadays. Police keep long records.”

His quartz lenses gleamed in the low morning sun.

“What are you getting at?”

He stopped and turned to face her, discarding his cigarette butt and snuffing the ember beneath the toe of his boot.

“We’ve got to get inside the police station anyway, to get that hacker’s neural hub. Just getting through the front door is going to be the biggest challenge - and once we’re in, _we’re in_ , so we might as well take full advantage of our time there. That woman, her daughter, she…” he faltered for a moment. “She was a friend. I want to look in to this for her, and I’m guessing most of that looking is going to happen inside the police station. You help me, and I’ll make it worth your while - we can look for information about your mother’s death, too, while we’re inside.”

Charlie blinked. Suddenly the wind felt very cold and very forceful, and she swayed on her feet.

“You don’t… you don’t have to make it ‘worth my while’, you know.” It was a heavy sentence, weighed down by things left unsaid. She wouldn’t, couldn’t say them - she was grateful. She could’ve been in a much, much worse situation. But it didn’t change the simple truth. _It’s not like I’m here of my own free will, because I want to be_. Even unspoken… Adam knew.

“No, I don’t have to. I _want_ to.”

She stammered. She’d never expected, never dreamed of actually being able to find out the truth about her mother’s death… she tried so hard for so long and got nowhere, she’d exhausted every resource, every channel, every effort (but she’d never had an armed escort inside the police station, direct access to all those files)… after all that time, she’d written it off as impossible. She wouldn’t let herself get her hopes up, but… for the first time in a very long time, it didn’t seem entirely outside the realm of possibility. Her mind reeled.

“Okay… yeah. Sure. It’s a deal.”

 

* * *

 

  
Charlie couldn’t quell her distaste after Adam spoke to his old coworker Wayne Haas, nor could she hide how impressed she was that somehow Adam had talked the man in to letting them in to the police station - something that Haas made very clear put his job in jeopardy.

“ _Ugh,_ ” Charlie hissed under her breath. “You were _way_ nicer to him than I would have been.”

They passed through the sliding glass doors that marked the entrance to the restricted area of the police station, the armored guard nodding at them. Adam shrugged.

“You catch more flies with honey. Besides, he’s a decent guy.”

“No he’s not, he _murdered_ a 15 year old! And then had the absolute _nerve_ to blame you for it.”

She saw a vein in Adam’s forehead flare, and she knew he was angry before he even opened his mouth. She cut him off.

“Listen, Adam, I know you’re probably used to everybody and their mother having an uninformed, uneducated opinion about what happened at Mexicantown. That’s not me. I was _there,_ remember? I saw it all. I was tear-gassed by riot cops. I saw you stand down, and I saw Haas shoot the kid. I know what _really_ happened.”

“The order stood, no matter what. If Haas had refused it too it would’ve passed to the next guy, and the next, and the next. There was only so much we could do - and all I did was get myself fired and disgraced. I didn’t even actually save the kid. He died anyway.”

They spoke without looking at each other, walking briskly through the police station with their eyes pointed dead ahead, both trying very hard to project a confidence, an air of looking like they belonged.

“Make no mistake - the order itself was wrong, and should never have been given in the first place. But you were the _only_ one with the integrity, with the courage, with the conscience to stand up against it and do what was right. At a certain point, _just following orders_ isn’t an excuse anymore. Freethinking people have a _responsibility_ to question the orders they are given, especially when those orders involve slaughtering a child. You were strong enough to do that. Haas wasn’t. Don’t sell yourself short.”

As they descended the stairs to the morgue, all Adam could hear was blood rushing in his ears. To her credit, Megan had said similar things immediately after the incident - but her words quickly proved hollow, and her support rapidly eroded in the face of her work. His self-loathing was a well, and supportive sentiment was a rope tossed down - but he didn’t hear it nearly enough (hardly ever) and he had no way to pull himself out. For a moment, he saw the briefest flickering of a light, and it burned.

The coroner took absolutely zero convincing - the hacker’s corpse was being held for Homeland Security, and the coroner immediately assumed that’s what Adam was. It was a natural assumption, one that Charlie didn’t blame the coroner for, and one that Adam was likely counting on. Charlie had to look away as Adam lifted the hacker’s skull plate to unplug the neural hub.

“Alright.” Adam spoke matter-of-factly as he pocketed the neural hub. “Now the real work begins.”

Mrs. Reed had sent them to a private detective, Chase, who had given them a few different leads. First was Chet Wagner - a greasy detective with a horrible mullet and an even worse mustache who spent the entirety of Adam & Charlie’s visit lounging around in the station’s lobby. Charlie didn’t want to go at him without some ammo, and a little poking around on his computer quickly revealed that he was involved drug dealings on the side. Fucking typical. Back down to the lobby to confront him, and he was combative as expected, throwing a handful of anti-aug slurs (“chrome boy”, “toaster”) at Adam, which made Charlie _unreasonably_ angry. It was satisfying to watch the man’s sneer fall when Adam revealed their information - and that was good enough to get Wagner to tell them what they needed to know (that he was ordered to dispose of intellicam footage that showed the men who attacked Sarif HQ bringing something into the facility,) but it wasn’t good enough to satisfy the rage that burned at Charlie’s throat.

“I’m probably still gonna smear him in the papers,” she spat as they left Wagner.

“I won’t stop you.” She didn’t see the tiny smirk that lifted the corner of his mouth.

Captain Penn’s computer was where they expected to find the most information - both on the attack on Sarif HQ, and Charlie’s mother. On the second floor, they crawled through a vent behind an armed guard to reach the captain’s office. Crawling through vents was becoming one of Charlie’s new favorite things - she’d always had ways of getting places where she didn’t belong, but most of them involved talking, and that was exhausting with a much higher failure rate. Plus, nothing made her feel more like a super spy than getting on hands and knees through vents with a tall handsome man in all black. As they entered Penn’s office, she stood up and brushed dust off the worn-in knees of her jeans.

“Okay, watch the door. Bet I can hack this no problem.”

He didn’t watch the door - he watched her. He watched her lean over the desk, one leg straight and one bent, her hip jutting out just so. She had a leanness to her, unintentional, as though she had a thousand more important things to worry about than making sure she ate properly - yet her body retained a womanly softness in places he tried not to let his eyes linger too long. Her blonde hair was hastily clipped back, but ribbons of it still fell haphazardly around her face. Her beauty was unguarded, unpretentious - the plainness in how she chose to adorn herself made her stand out even more in a world where every woman was impeccably well-manicured and decadently ornamented. In the lens of her square black glasses he could see reflected the computer screen. She was right - she cracked through the password screen easily.

She was mumbling under her breath, half to herself and half to let Adam know what she was doing. She didn’t have to go far in Penn’s inbox to find information about the attack on Sarif HQ.

“ _Manderly?_ ” she whispered. “A man named Joseph Manderly shut down the investigation. He’s with… what? He’s with _FEMA_?”

Adam crossed his arms.

“So FEMA shut down the investigation into the attacks on HQ, and Home Sec was holding the hacker and covering up information about his augmentations. Sounds like somebody inside the government has it out for Sarif Industries. That’s not good.”

“Not good, but not surprising,” Charlie dug in the messenger bag slung across her chest and pulled out a small data stick. She plugged it in to Penn’s computer, to save a copy of the email. “Anti-aug lobbyists, Taggart… all it takes is someone with a lot of money and the right connections to make life as hard as they can for people making scientific strides that they don’t like. It’s not always strictly illegal, but this… this is shady, this is under the table. They could go through proper channels, play by the rules, but you know bureaucracy - it takes forever. They wanted to shut you guys up fast, faster than they could playing by the rules. We can work with this.”

“What about your mother? Anything yet?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“It wasn’t as recent, the information is… it’s buried a little deeper. I’m doing a database search for any files with her name on them.”

Adam could practically feel Charlie’s heart pounding against her throat. She was tense, _nervous_ , and understandably so - torn between the exhilaration of being so close to the truth, and the anticipation of being scared of exactly what the truth was. He could see it in her eyes, when the search returned results. She kicked in to overdrive - copying the files to her data stick faster than she could read them, pulling her commlink out of her bag to run her own searches, her eyes darting about, scanning the screen, processing information at a hyperactive rate.

“Hm. Pretty much what I suspected. They ruled her death natural causes, but the autopsy didn’t turn anything up. My mother was healthy. Well, besides the cancer. Brown rice and vegetables, aerobics class three times a week. More for vanity’s sake than health’s sake, but…” she smiled fondly. “Not exactly the type of person you would expect to drop dead in their own home.”

“There were two officers in charge of my mother’s case, two officers who signed off on that autopsy. One of them…” she looked down, typing on her commlink rapidly. “One of them is dead. KIA, last year. The other is retired.”

“You got a name?”

“Yeah. Joe Wilson. And a personnel file… just about his time on the force. Nothing about where he could be now. But this is enough. I have contacts, resources back at the paper… I can find him.” She unplugged her data stick and tucked it, along with her commlink, back into her bag. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve still got to hit up that evidence storage locker.”

They left the station through the second floor fire escape, and climbed steel ladders down into an alley behind the building. They were both equally on edge - Charlie’s mind was racing with the information she’d just found, and Adam was sick in anticipation of the information he was about to find. The evidence locker was sure to contain autopsy reports… the grisly details of Megan’s death. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to read it, but he didn’t have a choice - and certainly he was better equipped for it than Mrs. Reed. He had to do it so she wouldn’t have to.

Charlie stood off to the side as Adam dug through the evidence locker, occupied with her commlink. Luckily, the first file he picked up wasn’t the worst. The sole witness on scene, who suffered a mysterious memory loss immediately before authorities were to question him. Charlie was multitasking. She held her commlink to her ear, calling someone - someone back at the paper, someone who could help her look for Wilson, while at the same time taking the files from Adam when he was done with them and making copies. She kept her eyes on Adam while her hands worked. The second file - a strange incendiary compound had been used by the terrorists to burn every surface, every body, everything they came in contact with. Scorched earth. Leave no trace. Whoever they were, they were professionals. And then the third file. What he’d been dreading. Megan’s autopsy report. He felt like his hands should have been shaking. They weren’t, of course. Cybernetics didn’t tremble. It felt wrong.

His eyes scanned the document and it was like he’d forgotten how to read. Strange shapes and symbols that meant nothing. An alarm was going off somewhere in his head. He read it again once, twice, three times, and each time he comprehended it a little bit more, the shapes formed letters formed words formed meaning. _Cause of death is quick and intense snapping of the neck vertebrae combined with crushing pressure. Body was likely burned after the subject was deceased._ He braced himself as a tidal wave of memories came crashing over him, moments frozen in sepia, things he’d already relived a thousand awful times. Body… that body… _her_ body. For years it had slept next to him every night. He felt it’s warmth, he knew it’s every curve and valley, every freckle, every inch, inside and out. The way she laughed, every different type - when she was excited, when she was nervous, when Kubrick barked at the TV, when she came home late drunk and giddy and fell into his arms. She loved it when he kissed her neck, but his stubble always tickled her, then. Did it hurt, when the man with his muscles outside of his skin snapped her vertebrae like a twig? Did she suffer? Did she realize she was dying before she left, and did she think of him then? The document was removed from his hands by an outside force, and he kept staring blankly at the space where it once was.

“Uh-uh. Yeah. Joe Wilson, DPD. Hey, listen. I’ll call you back.”

Charlie had her eyes locked on him as she ended her phone call and took the document from him. She spoke quietly, gently.

“She was more than just your friend, wasn’t she?”

He nodded, numbly. She looked down at the document and scanned it, grimacing before copying it to her data stick.

“ _Jesus_. I’m so sorry you had to read that.”

He scrubbed his face with his hands, and even that brought him no relief - they were alien hands, to him, belonging to a stranger who he did not like and did not want to be touched by. He was caught off guard by his emotional reaction, and embarrassed. He should’ve been able to handle it better.

“Are you okay?”

He inhaled sharply, nodded as though he were trying to convince himself more than anything.

“Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. I’m fine.”

“Don’t apologize. That was graphic. I’d be a mess if I were in your shoes right now. Here, I found this in the safe over there.” She held her hand out. Something was in it. “I think we have everything, whenever you’re ready to go.”

He looked down at what she held in her hand. It was a bracelet - a large cuff, ornate filigree inlaid with blue and white stones. It looked so strange not clasped around Megan’s slender wrist, or placed delicately on her dressing table. She only wore it on special occasions. Fancy dinners, fundraising galas, the opera. He hated the opera, but she loved it, so he was happy to take her. He blinked, and his vision blurred, each stone gleaming like a star. He felt each mechanical knuckle engage and unfurl in slow motion, as though outside of his own body, as he reached out to take the bracelet from Charlie’s hand.

 

* * *

 

He had some time to compose himself as they walked back to his apartment building. Mrs.Reed waited in the lobby for him, and he would have to tell her everything he’d found. Charlie was quiet at his side, but somehow steadfast, like if suddenly he forgot how to walk she would hold him up and help him every step of the way. It wasn’t his usual MO, but it was nice to not be alone, to have someone with him who understood what he was going through - as much as anyone could, at least.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much to tell Mrs. Reed except for that she was right. He went over all the evidence with her, and still he felt like he was coming up short. She was grateful, and pleased - all she’d asked him to do was look in to it, confirm her suspicions. She never expected him to be able to get to the bottom of everything - but just knowing, it was a start. It wasn’t satisfying, not for either of them, and it only raised a thousand more questions, but… you couldn’t start the fix until you knew something was wrong. Charlie stood closer to the conversation this time. She was a part of it, now. And when it lulled and a giant question mark hung in the air between Adam and Mrs. Reed, a sense of _‘so what next?’_ settling over them all, she stepped forward and extended her hand to the woman.

“Hi, Mrs. Reed. My name is Charlie Winters. I’m an… associate… of Adam’s, I work for the paper, and I’m _so_ sorry for your loss. I kind of… I kind of know how you feel. My mother was murdered, and her death was covered up by DPD also. Listen, I have a proposition for the two of you.”

They both turned to her.

“I know how much it sucks feeling like you’re powerless to fight against these people, to right these wrongs. Sometimes, for me… getting the truth out helps. It’s part of why I got in to my field of work. The paper isn’t a prosecution, but it’s close, and exposing this kind of stuff is often the first step in fighting it. If you want - both of you, and _only_ if you want - I can go public with this. I can write about it. I have copies of all the evidence files, and if anybody asks me where I got them I’ll say what I always do - a leak, an inside source. I’ve pissed off DPD before, and they and I both know they can’t touch me when it comes to stuff like this. I understand that you may want privacy for yourselves, and for Megan, which is why if you say no I’ll never breathe a word of this to anyone. But, well… it would make _me_ feel better, if I were in your shoes, so I’m putting it on the table.”

Adam and Mrs. Reed locked eyes. She was a smart woman, just like her daughter, and idealistic too. She was already in hell - already mourning her daughter, already faced with the injustice of a police coverup. An article in the newspaper would likely bring no additional stress or pain - and if it did, it would be an inconsequential amount compared to the vindication of things kept intentionally and wrongfully shadowed brought to light. Adam knew Mrs. Reed’s decision before even she did - he was prepared to defer to her on this one, but he happened to agree.

“Yes.” Mrs. Reed set her mouth in a hard line. “Do it.”

Charlie nodded solemnly. She exchanged contact information with the woman - she would run everything by her before it was published. Adam left Megan’s mother with a promise that this wasn’t over, that there was more to this story. It was a promise half for her sake, half for his. He had to believe they weren’t at the end of this road. He watched her turn and begin to walk away, his fingers toying with Megan’s bracelet in his pocket. Once he would have been able to feel the sharp edges of each gemstone and the bevels they were set in, he would have smiled as he recalled unclasping the bracelet from Megan’s naked wrist. Now he felt nothing. Metal and stones, cold and hard, a painful and unwieldy reminder of what he’d lost forever.

“Wait, Mrs. Reed.”

She turned, and he held forth the bracelet. She recognized it instantly, and gasped as she blinked away tears.

“I found this in an evidence storage locker. I think… I think you should have it.”

Charlie was watching with her heart in her throat. He could have kept the bracelet for himself. He could have kept it…

“Oh, Adam.” Mrs. Reed’s voice cracked. “This… this was her favorite. Her grandmother gave it to her. _Thank you._ ”

Adam nodded, solemn. It hurt, and it felt good. Pain, but fresh air, _breath,_ freedom. Like ripping off a bandaid.

“Adam? Do you know…. how, exactly, did she die?”

He clenched his jaw, and Charlie took a step closer to his side. She didn’t touch him, she didn’t reach out, she didn’t say anything. She just moved a little closer, and somehow, that made the difference between feeling like he was drowning and feeling like he was treading water. He swallowed, clenched his fists, steadied himself.

“I read the reports. Megan… she died instantly. She didn’t suffer, I can promise you that.”

Mrs. Reed left, and Charlie fought the urge to reach out and touch Adam, hold his hand or throw her arms around him or offer some sort of supportive touch. It was strange. Sure, she’d just met him, but… it didn’t feel like it, to say the least. She sighed and pushed a flaxen ribbon of hair out of her face. There was that itch. Her most average, boring days ended with drinking to chase the dark away. This was something else entirely. She felt overwhelmed, and only one thing would help. Thankfully it was socially acceptable to encourage drinking after an emotionally taxing day. She didn't feel like dragging her demons out in front of Adam this soon.

“I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

Adam turned to her, his shoulders slumped like something was weighing him down. Even if he couldn’t really get drunk, sometimes the ritual was the most important part. Sitting at a bar with someone, drinking to drown sorrows, a concentrated effort to shrug off the heavy cloak of a hard day. It would work even without the physical effects of alcohol intoxication.

“Yeah… yeah. A drink sounds good.”

 

* * *

 

Charlie took him to a bar in midtown Detroit. It was old world - mirrored walls, crystal lamps, dark mahogany and an old man playing piano in the corner. Nothing was better when you felt like you needed to escape - not just a different place, but a different time. In the cushion of old world trappings, you could almost forget the uniquely horrible problems that came along with modern life. _Almost.  
_

They took their seats at the bar, Charlie setting her messenger bag and jacket on the chair next to her. She waved the bartender over, and was greeted with warmth and familiarity. A regular, then. Typically she drank at home, but she'd been coming here long enough and consistently enough that they knew her by name. She ordered a gin and tonic, and Adam whiskey - neat. The first round was dispatched quickly and in comfortable silence, and Adam signaled for another. When their glasses were a third empty, Charlie spoke.

“Do you want to talk about her?”

She fidgeted with the black plastic stirring stick in her glass.

“It’s how we keep the dead alive. As long as we talk about them, they’re still with us. I know her name - Megan Reed. I know she was one of Sarif’s scientists. I know her blood type, too, but… well… none of those things tell me anything about who she was.”

Adam smiled.

“She was smart. Anyone who met her, she was the smartest person they ever met. Driven, focused, unstoppable when she wanted something, determined to leave her mark on the world.” He rolled the bottom of his glass against the table.

“Yeah?” Charlie’s voice was warm. “I can understand why you fell for her.”

She watched his mouth harden, his brow furrow.

“Sometimes it was too much, though. She was never home, always at work, and even when she was at home she was thinking about work. Of course, the work she was doing was so important, so groundbreaking….” he opened his hand, flexed it, looking down into his palm. “But after Mexicantown… well, she chose her work over me time and time again, but that was the hardest. We split up and I moved out, not too long before the terrorist attack.”

“ _Oh_ , Adam. I’m sorry.”

“I wish I could say it made losing her any easier.” His words were sour with bitterness, and he drained the rest of his glass. It was refilled before he could ask for it, and Charlie’s as well. The alcohol burned going down, and that felt good, but that’s about all it did for him anymore. Sentinel filtered it out of his blood before it could do anything else.

“It makes it harder. I know.” Her words came looser, easier, and a flush was rising in her cheeks. He smiled. At least one of them was getting drunk. “My mother and I didn’t always get along. My father left us when I was a baby, so growing up… it was just the two of us, and we were so much alike. _Too_ much alike. Both just as opinionated and stubborn, both just as unlikely to ever back down. After the augmentation, it got even harder… I was working two jobs to pay for her Nu-poz, and I felt like that meant she had no right to criticize me or disagree with me, which was…” her voice broke “… _horrible_ of me. If I had known what was going to happen to her, I would have…” she looked down, shaking her head. “I wish she were still around for me to fight with. Even when we didn’t get along, at least she was _there_.”

“I know _exactly_ what you mean.”

They looked at each other with identical melancholy half-smiles, suspended in a moment of that peculiar feeling of finding someone who empathizes with you _so_ precisely when you _never_ thought anyone would - like _finally_ coming home after a long, strange trip. He remembered finding her in that server room, wide-eyed and covered in blood, and for some reason he felt like laughing. In that moment, she looked beautiful in a way that no woman had ever looked beautiful to him before. She raised her glass.

“To the dead. And to keeping them alive as long as we are.”

They toasted, and both drained their glasses. Charlie set hers down, a bit clumsily, on the bartop, and sighed deeply. It felt natural, and her judgement was a little clouded, and before she realized that she probably shouldn’t, she’d tilted her head to the side and rested it gently against Adam’s shoulder.

She’d never let herself forget. She watched his black fingers as they picked up and dangled his glass, drummed against the mahogany bartop, raked through his hair or across his face. It was different when you felt it - he stiffened, surprised at her touch, and she felt a mass of solid, hard carbon fiber polymer and metal where her head came to rest. It was strange, but not at all unpleasant - a shoulder to lean on should be strong, shouldn’t it? For a split second she closed her eyes and imagined what those arms might feel like around her. It sent a shiver deep down into the center of her core, and jolted her back to reality. She shot straight up, beet-red, stammering awkward.

“ _Oh god_ , I’m sorry, I’m - I’m drunk, I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s okay,” Adam smiled. “I don’t mind.” He was surprised to find that he truly didn’t. Usually he liked working alone, but having her by his side today had been… helpful, in more ways that one. If she wanted to lean on him she had well earned the right, and her alcohol-induced outburst of forwardness was endearing and charming. She was embarrassed, but recovered gracefully with a delightful little smile and a playful narrowing of her eyes.

“You hold your drink awfully well,” she motioned with her glass to the four empty ones that sat stacked in front of Adam.

“Ah, well, I can’t take credit for that. It’s my Sentinel implant. Filters the alcohol out of my bloodstream before it can have any significant effects.”

Charlie’s eyes widened.

“So… you can’t get drunk?”

“No, not like before. Only ever tipsy, at most, and only for a few minutes before it’s gone.”

She snorted into her gin.

“Well, that’s a fucking racket. What’s the return policy on those?”

He laughed bitterly. “Really shitty, unfortunately.”

She furrowed her brows and her voice fell in pitch and volume - serious, tender, almost frightened.

“They didn’t ask you, did they? If you wanted to be augmented?”

“They _couldn’t_ ,” Adam shrugged. He’d rehearsed this speech in his head a thousand times, he’d repeated it to himself over and over and over again to keep himself from going crazy. “I was unconscious, nearly dead, and I would have died without the augmentations. What they did was necessary. It saved my life.”

She mumbled something noncommittal and raised her eyebrows over the edge of her glass in a way that told him she didn’t quite buy it, and deep down inside he knew he didn’t quite buy it either. In his pocket, his commlink buzzed. He pulled it out - a message from Carella flashed across the screen, and he couldn’t stop distaste from displaying itself plainly across his face.

“That guy from your office this morning?”

Adam nodded.

“People sure do ask you for help a lot, huh?”

_You have no idea._

“He’s one of our scientists. He’s… he’s been stealing neuropozyne. Giving it away to people who can’t afford it.”

Something bristled in her. She sat up a little straighter.

“Only thing is, now he wants out. But the guy he was funneling it through isn’t having any of that, and he’s got blackmail.”

“So, he’s stupid. But he’s not evil. Good intentions, and all that. You shouldn’t have to help him… but you will, right?”

He looked at Charlie, pictured her young and innocent in the prime of her life working two jobs to buy anti-rejection drugs for her mother instead of enjoying her youth like she should have been. Of course he was already planning on helping Carella - what he was doing was noble, if not idiotic - but if he’d had any doubts…

“Of course I will. And I could use a hand, if you’re interested.”

She smiled, and nodded. It made her feel good to know that she was wanted, and not simply tolerated - and maybe she had been strong-armed into this situation by David Sarif as a result of her own stupid actions, but Adam didn’t have to be kind to her or ask for her help or even offer his, and it was looking more and more like a very happy accident. Adam paid their tab and they left, both feeling significantly better than when they’d arrived. Before they parted ways, he plugged his number into her commlink - just in case.

 

* * *

 

  
In a darkened surveillance room, Lawrence Barrett peered at a screen through a thick cloud of cigar smoke. The video feed was grainy and tinged all in green, and it bathed his gnarled face in an eerie sort of light. Through a hacked security camera, he watched Adam Jensen and a small-statured blonde woman enter the morgue at DPD.

“Well, well, well….” he drawled, his voice dripping with a Southern twang. “Who are you, little sunflower?”

Heavy footsteps approached from behind, steel-toed combat boots.

“Barrett, I told you not to smoke in here. That shit stinks.” Jaron Namir’s voice was cold, rough, like a serrated blade.

Barrett scowled and snubbed out his cigar in a crystal ashtray.

“What’s the situation? Give me an update.”

“Well, looks like Jensen beat us to the chinaman’s brain chip. And he picked himself up a little girlfriend, too.”

Namir stepped closer to the screen, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. Jensen, he was familiar with - _very_ familiar with. But this woman was a new variable.

“Can you do a facial recognition scan on her?”

Barrett’s meaty fingers clacked against the keyboard, and the computer scanned and searched. They had access to a vast network - every public security camera in the world, and then some, and the most advanced facial recognition software available. In less than 30 seconds, it had pulled up an extensive profile of the blonde woman.

“Charlotte Winters. Pretty name for a pretty girl. And a troublemaker, too. Looks like we already have a file on her.”

“Pull it up.”

“She works for the papers. Has a nasty habit of printing stuff that the boss doesn’t like very much. Seems like a hanzer-lover. Must be, if she’s tagging along with Jensen.”

Namir leaned forward and shoved Barrett out of the way. He scrolled through the woman’s file - an impressive history of leaking pro-aug and anti-establishment sentiment through the press. Then, medical and family history. No information on her father. But her mother - Maria Winters. It sounded familiar, strangely, for some reason. He drummed his fingers against the desktop, thinking, thumbing rapidly through the files of his own mind. _Ah. Of course._

“We should get rid of her as soon as we can. She’s mostly harmless on her own, but if she’s working with Jensen… she’ll turn from a gnat to a bee. And I _hate_ getting stung. Yelena?”

From the shadows behind, a heavily augmented woman stepped forward - unnaturally tall and spindly, with half her head shaved and eyes rimmed in black kohl. She did not speak - merely glowered at the screen.

“Care to pay her a visit?”

Yelena nodded stoically, and turned to leave. Namir called after her, and she stopped in her tracks.

“And… Yelena? Make it quick. This isn’t her world. She doesn’t deserve to suffer.”

Barrett chuckled and kicked his feet up on the desk, leaning back in his chair.

“Sorry, little sunflower. Wrong place, wrong time.”

 

 

 

 

 


	6. 9\23\27:down the rabbit hole

 

 

 

_**The Cat & The Hound** _

_9/23/27_  
_22:15:43_  
**_down the rabbit hole_ **

_I have a natural urge to observe and document - I guess that’s what got me in to my line of work. You know, it’s like - some people are doers. They make stuff happen. Some people are watchers, like, super-passive. At home on their couches watching the doers do through their TV screens. People like me - we’re somewhere in between. Bringing the doers to the watchers so the watchers can watch what the doers do. The middleman, I guess. Anyway, some things you can’t run in the papers - some things you don’t want to run in the papers. Personal stuff. Kind of. That’s what blogs are for - that’s what this is for. I want to document what is happening to me because… I think I’m becoming a doer._

_It started with me doing something incredibly stupid which should come as absolutely no surprise to anyone who knows me. Sometimes I think my life is just a series of me doing very stupid things and then dealing with the aftermath. Maybe this aftermath won’t be so bad, but - I’ve gotten myself in some deep shit. Corporate espionage? Check. Government secrets? Check. Conspiracies, cover-ups, and hackers? Check, check, and check. I saw a man die. I’ve seen a lot, but I’ve never seen a man die before. I never thought I would. I’m just… a normal girl. Who writes for the papers. Never been one to sit passively at my desk, but still. I’ve found myself irreversibly entangled in situations that are way beyond my pay grade. And I’m not even getting paid! Somehow I can’t really find it in myself to be too upset about any of that when the silver lining is so dazzling._

_I want to call my mom and tell her I’ve met somebody. I can hear her voice in my head now - “What’s his name? Does he have a good job? Take things slow, you’re always falling too fast! I don’t want to see you get hurt again. So, when can I meet him?” And then I would tell her, like I always do, “He’s different this time, mom. He’s not like the others.” Only this time, he actually IS different, and I can’t call my mom because she’s gone. Ugh, that still hurts to say. She would love him (not in the least because he’s helping me find out the truth about what happened to her.) He’s a doer - a real doer. And he does good - real good. And yes - he’s augmented. I won’t say it doesn’t matter, because it does - it just doesn’t affect how I feel about him. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s Superman levels of just and noble. He was like that long, long before metal was grafted to his flesh. God, he’s a monument of a man. We only just met, but… well, I can’t say anything that wouldn’t be a horrible cliche, so I won’t say anything at all. Except for that I am in awe of him, and his voice fills my mind even when we are apart and when I close my eyes I see the back of his head, the set of his shoulders, I sleep and dream of him in ways I literally cannot articulate with words and I write for a living. Is that melodramatic? I don’t care. This is my blog._

_So, yeah. That’s where I’m at. My life - crazier than it’s ever been. My place in the watcher-doer balance of the world? Questionable, for the first time in literally ever - and I was happy being a middleman. It suited me, and I was good at it. I fear I don’t have the constitution to be a doer, but it doesn’t look like I have much of a choice now. And it all feels magical, because of a man._

_I’m the cat. He’s the hound. And I guess we’re off into the woods._


	7. My haunted lungs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Adam and Charlie grow closer, Charlie learns that her life is in danger and Adam struggles with coming to face his most daunting failures.

 

 

  
Charlie sat at her home desk, Ivy curled up peacefully on her lap and condensation pooling under the glass of clear liquid by her keyboard. Vodka, a splash of flat soda, as usual. She’d been working double-time, between helping Adam and trying to produce actual content for the paper so that her editor wouldn’t have as much of a problem with her skipping out on work to run around with ‘Robocop’ - every time he called Adam that it made Charlie’s blood pressure rise a little, but she was in no place to call him out on it. Word of the police cover-up story had bought her a little more leeway, and she was just now putting the finishing touches on it. She would send it to Mrs. Reed and Adam first, for their approval, and then it would go live. Something like this was _bound_ to make some waves. As she leaned back and took a drink, she pondered the same thing she did before she published anything - _where will this story go?_ No matter how prepared she was, the news always took on a life of it’s own. It always surprised her. It was a living, breathing thing. Maybe that’s why she loved it so much.

  
The more she dug in to this Sarif case, the more she learned about Megan Reed. She had the scientist’s obituary pulled up on a second screen - it included a photo of Megan at a press conference, smiling and shaking hands with a man in a suit. She looked very distinguished - fashionably (yet professionally) dressed, her chestnut hair neatly coiffed and gleaming. Just as important as she was beautiful. Charlie couldn’t help but notice that the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She read about Megan’s life - about her degrees, about her work, about her research. To say that Megan Reed was intellectually gifted would be a _gigantic_ understatement. She was a genius - a person whose mind was both vital and instrumental to the progress of humanity. Charlie stared unfocused at the photo on Megan’s obituary, chewing absentmindedly on the cap of her stylus. She couldn’t stop her imagination from getting carried away. She imagined how Adam and Megan met. He was still with SWAT at the time - did they have a mutual friend? Did they meet by chance? She imagined Megan walking down the street with an armful of files and paperwork, distracted and frazzled, running straight in to Adam - her papers would slide out of her arms and fly into the air and amidst a great rushing sound like a flock of cranes beating their wings, he would kneel down to help her pick them up and their eyes would lock and time would stop. But that was stupid - nobody kept files in print anymore, it was all electronic, and a dropped datapad wasn’t as romantic. How did they fall in love? She imagined the first date, the first kiss, the first…. heat rose in her cheeks and her eyelids fluttered. He would have been different, then. Before the augs. Before Mexicantown, even. How did he court her? What was he like back then - was he happier, did he smile more? Her mind was racing in a way that felt involuntary, yet at the same time the images in her mind felt like peering in on something she neither wanted to nor had permission to see. She was frozen sick, exhilarated, blood rushing in her ears. In the distance, a persistent pinging noise bore itself through her reverie and brought her back to reality.

There was an alarm going off in the corner of her screen. Her apartment was in a bad area of town, and she’d been robbed more than once - but it was more than just that. She was adept at pissing people off, and had been hustled, threatened, shaken down, and strongarmed enough times to know to put precautionary measures in place. Unbeknownst to her landlord, she’d installed a microscopic security camera at the building’s front door, one in the stairwell, and one in her doorbell. If the building’s front door was ever busted open or lockpicked, she would be alerted and the camera feed would start streaming directly to her desktop. She watched as the building’s front door splintered and cracked near the doorknob. Something tore its way through the wood - metal, she couldn’t tell - and as it swung open she saw standing there a woman so tall she filled the entire doorframe to the top. Her shoulders were massive, made of unnatural sharp angles, and one side of her head shone bare scalp. Some sort of primal fear activated deep in Charlie’s core when she saw the woman’s hulking frame, when she realized what quick work this intruder had made of the door. It was like every cell in her body was screaming to _run_ , like her insides were trying very hard to leap out of her skin, like there was nothing in her mind but a wailing siren so loud it hurt. She didn’t know how, or why, but she knew that woman was there for her, and she knew she had to run, _now_.

She pushed her chair back and shot up, Ivy falling off her lap and landing nimbly on her feet - as cats always do. She grabbed her commlink from the desk in front of her and pulled her boots on as fast as she possibly could. Her hands were shaking as she stood on her bed, lifted the window, climbed out onto the fire escape and closed the window behind her. A few moments later, when Yelena Federova busted down Charlie’s front door the same way she did the building’s, she was greeted by an empty apartment. The alert on Charlie’s computer was still pinging, and Ivy sat in the center of the room licking her paws and staring unblinkingly at the intruder, as if to taunt her.

 

* * *

 

  
There was no longer any rhyme or reason to how or why or when the memories came to him. He could not predict them, he could not prepare himself for them, and so they hurt all the more.

When a relationship slowly disintegrates over the course of years, it’s not really a situation where you can identify each individual nail in the coffin. Their relationship didn’t receive a proper burial - a hole was dug and it was thrown in naked, buried alive, forced to watch as dirt was thrown over it little by little. But it was one of the first times he remembered very clearly and distinctively being unhappy.

It was Megan’s 30th birthday. He knew turning 30 was a big deal for women, her in particular, and he wanted to make it special for her - _easier_ for her. Megan was a phenomenal woman, and only seemed to be getting better with age. She had much to be proud of - he was proud, _of her_ and _for her_ \- and he wanted to make sure that she realized that. He left work early - he had lots of preparation to do. Back then, he actually enjoyed cooking, and had planned an elaborate meal for her. A cake from Detroit’s finest bakery, two bottles of her favorite wine, and roses. Lots, and lots, and lots of roses. He covered their condo in roses. He wanted her to gasp when she walked in, her wanted her eyes to light up. This was right around the time her work at Sarif really amped up, and David truly began to monopolize her time. He was still with DPD at the time, he didn’t understand why she constantly had to stay late and work on the weekends, why she often didn’t come home from the labs until the clock said AM. He certainly didn’t expect it on her birthday. Apologetic messages flooded in as her birthday dinner sat and went cold. By the time she got home, Adam had drank one of the bottles of wine by himself and fallen asleep at the table waiting for her.

He was still undecided as to which hurt more - the good memories, or the bad ones. He poured himself another glass of scotch. He drank it like water now. A voice came over his infolink, a voice that was becoming very familiar to him.

“Adam?”

It was Charlie. He’d given her his infolink frequency as well - it was more convenient when they were working together, and she seemed to be carving out a place for herself as a constant (welcome) presence at his side.

“Charlie. What’s up?”

“Sorry to bother you so late.” She was breathless, and very scared. Something was wrong.

“Charlie.” He lowered his voice, stern. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It’s no big deal. Just…” in the background he could hear footsteps pounding on pavement. “There was a woman breaking in to my apartment building. Augmented, real big and scary looking. Here - I’ve got security cam footage. I’m sending it to you now. I think… I think she was there for me, Adam.”

When Adam saw the image on his commlink, his blood ran cold. He’d forgotten so much about the attack on Sarif labs, but he remembered her as soon as he saw her - legs augmented, hooked below the ankle like a mantis’ claws, taller than any man, dark eyes. He remembered a scientist’s blood splattering across a sliding glass door, corpse sliding down, before this woman turned and activated her dermal cloaking. Years of police and operative training had taught him to quell his panic, to keep it from overriding his critical thinking skills, to stay calm and collected even in the most extreme circumstances. He was struggling with it, at this moment, for a first time in a very long time.

“Get to my apartment, now. Chiron building, near the police station - I’m sending you the address.”

Her breath came short, her words shaken. She was running. “She could be following me, I don’t want to lead her to you.”

“Listen to me!” His words came harsher, hotter than he wanted. “Run as fast as you can. Don’t stop for anything, don’t look over your shoulder.” His voice softened. “You’ll be safe here. Just… hurry.”

There was silence on her end for a moment, wind and breath rushing through the speaker.

“Okay. I got the address. On my way.”

He waited for her by pacing across his living room with both hands on his combat rifle. Something was screaming inside him, some unbearable anger. Someone he cared about was in danger and he was overwhelm with the urge to seek out, capture, and tear limb-from-limb with his bare hands the source of that danger. He didn’t even stop for a moment on the fact that Charlie was someone he cared about. Of course she was. He might not have known her long but if something happened to her, if she was hurt or killed… he would suffer for it. He would feel a loss - the entire world would feel a loss. And he would be responsible for that. He couldn’t, _not again_ …

After what seemed like a thousand years, his buzzer rang. He was at the door in an instant, and saw her on the vidscreen. Her hair was windblown, a halo of cornsilk around her face, and her cheeks were red. She was bouncing on her heels, anxious, eyes darting back over her shoulder.

“Come up.” He buzzed her in.

When she arrived at his door, he could tell she was barely holding it together. He could see the tears biting at the corners of her eyes, and her voice was shrill, near-hysterics. It was almost funny - she looked like a child, wearing little more than an oversized nightshirt and hoodie, her combat boots hardly laced, her bare knees sticking out in the midst. One of them was scratched, bleeding, filled with gravel. She must have fallen on her way over. He ushered her in and closed the door, his eyes darting down the hallway both ways.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded frantically, inhaling sharply through her teeth. The most _no_ ‘yes’ he’d ever seen.

“Yeah, y-yeah. I’m fine. I’m good.”

He’d forgotten - he had his lenses retracted. He didn’t often wear them when he was alone, at home. Her eyes had been darting around, unable to focus on any one object, but they came to rest still on his face and he watched her lips part ever so slightly, her eyes widen a millimeter. She wouldn’t gawk - it was rude - but she couldn’t help the breath being snatched out of her lungs. His eyes were… well, she’d spent nearly every night since meeting him lying awake staring at the ceiling trying to picture what was under those lenses. She couldn’t have conjured up anything this beautiful. She felt like she was seeing him, _really_ seeing him for the first time, and he was kinder and and gentler and more broken and more _weary_ than she could have ever imagined. Crystalline green, a ring of digital neon yellow-gold wrapping itself around his iris - they glowed with cybernetic light, soft and pleasant like an electronic candleflame. She felt calmed, immediately, the augmented assassin splintering open her front door pushed a little further away in her mind. Truthfully, Adam would’ve preferred to have delayed this moment a while longer, if for no other reason than that it made _him_ feel vulnerable. But he watched her shoulders relax and heard her breathing slow and he couldn’t find it in him to be upset or annoyed.

“Sit down.” He took her gently by the arm and walked her over to the sofa. The adrenaline was leaving her system and she was crashing - she let him lead her, numb, weak.

“You’re bleeding.” As she sat, she looked down at her knee. It was likely she hadn’t even felt the pain before, but blood was trailing down her shin. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”

She heard him walk away, into the other room, and took a moment to observe her surroundings. Adam’s apartment was just as messy as his office - half of his belongings were still in boxes, opened but not unpacked, and the other half dumped unceremoniously across whatever flat surface lent itself to the task. Stacks of books, framed photos never hung up, blankets and discarded jackets and shirts and bottles of scotch each three-quarters empty and ammunition. To the right was a window - well, several windows. A whole wall of them, a few feet tall, providing a staggering view of the Detroit skyline. Like black velvet embroidered with a thousand radiant topaz crystals and lit from behind with the purest distillation of dawn and dusk, it flooded the room with soft honeyed warmth. Near the window she noticed a table littered with gears, springs, wires, screws, and… books on antique clockmaking. It didn’t take her long to connect the dots. She bit her lip.

He returned after a moment with medical supplies. A damp cloth, antiseptic cream, bandages. Her eyes followed him as he knelt in front of her and gently but firmly placed a mechanical hand in the crook of her knee. He was wearing a plain white cotton t-shirt, the sculpted black muscles of his augmented arms even more striking in contrast. She’d never seen him out of his combat harness or trenchcoat.

“Tell me what happened.” Delicately, he wiped the gravel and dirt away from the wound. She winced.

“So… um, I was at home. Writing - working. On the DPD coverup story. A while ago, I kind of rigged this security system. Cameras at the building entrance, stairwells, my front door. Pressure sensors in the doors and locks. If anyone tries to force entry, I’m notified and I get the camera feed.”

“Smart.” With a carbon polymer fingertip, he applied antiseptic cream. He worked with singular focus, his hands quick and sure. She felt cared for. She liked it.

“Thanks. My landlord doesn’t know about it but I like to keep something between me and the people I piss off. Anyway, I’m working and the alarm goes off and the camera feed pops up. She… she broke straight through the door, Adam. Like it was styrofoam. I saw her and I just… I don’t know. I ran.”

He laid the bandage down, and smoothed it over with his fingers.

“How did you know she was there for you?” He looked up at her.

“Oh. Um… intuition? I’m not sure, honestly. I just knew. Oh, Jesus Christ.” She buried her face in her hands. “I’m such an idiot. She wasn’t there for me, _of course_ she wasn’t there for me, why would she be? I’ve just made a big deal over nothing and crashed your apartment in the middle of the night and I’m so stupid and I’m so sorry.”

He pressed his lips together, a grim imitation of a smile.

“No. Your intuition was right.”

She raised her face, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“I know that woman, Charlie. I’ve seen her before. She was one of the mercenaries who attacked Sarif HQ. She was one of the team that killed Megan and the other scientists.”

“Oh.”

He’d finished bandaging her knee, but stay knelt on the floor in front of her. A pregnant pause stretched between them, and they locked eyes.

“They’re watching us, and they don’t like something we’re doing.”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs, lowering her face a little closer to his.

“The coverup story?”

“Probably. We know someone powerful was pulling the strings covering up that information. Maybe the same person they work for. Maybe the same person who… who sent them to Sarif six months ago.” He furrowed his brows and clenched his jaw. She wasn’t used to being able to see his eyes. She’d never realized how much he was hurting. The blood was draining from her face, and she was silent. Adam stood up and grabbed his commlink, dialing a number and speaking brusquely to someone on the other side for a moment.

“I’m sending a security team over to sweep your building. We’ll get you set up with a corporate apartment tomorrow. I’ll help you move.”

“Adam, I don’t want a corporate apartment, and I won’t be any safer in one than I will be in my own.”

“So you’re just going to go back? They know _where you live_ , Charlie. You got away this time, but they’re not just going to give up. They’ll come back for you - again, and again, until they finish the job.”

“So they found me once, it’ll be just as easy for them to find me again! It doesn’t matter where I go, it won’t be any harder for them to find me. I live by my own means, not under the thumb of anyone else. I’ll be no more safe from these attackers in a corporate apartment, but I _will_ feel less secure.”

There was that panic again. He was breathing fast, he felt like he couldn’t get enough air in fast enough, like his lungs were constricting and shrinking. They weren’t, of course. His lungs were state-of-the-art, cutting edge technology. And his heart - did they touch his heart, when they augmented him? Right now, it was pounding so hard it hurt, it felt like it would burst out of his chest, tear through the flesh and metal and polymer and bolts and fall out into his hands bloody and raw and still beating. He looked at Charlie, sitting on his couch, disheveled and bright-eyed and really truly scared. Even through her fear she was defiant, brave, _stupid._ He ran a hand through his hair and took a knee in front of her once again. How could he make her understand?

“Listen, Charlie. I know you don’t really hold your own survival in that high regard and that’s fine - some people might even commend you for being so unafraid of dying. But you should at least give a second thought to hurtling yourself towards certain death for the sake of others. There are people who _need_ you."

"Nobody needs me, Adam." Her voice was flat, no trace of sadness or self-pity when she said that. Just the bare truth. "I have a _cat_ , and even she would be fine without me. I have no family, a few friends, but... " she wouldn't finish her sentence, but she didn't need to. Adam heard what she didn't say just as much as he heard what she did say. She was only that reckless because she could afford to be. It's hard for someone to value their own life when there's no one else to mourn the loss. If anyone understood that, it was Adam. For a split-second he thought of Kubrick. He sighed.

"Look, I know what that's like. _I do._ I'm talking about your work. What you do. You have a voice, and you use it to speak out for people who can't speak out for themselves. Like your mother. _Those_ people need you."

When he mentioned her mother, her eyelids fluttered and she choked down a cry. It was emotionally disarming, and her anger dissipated - but not her resolve. Her voice hardened, her eyes turned down.

“Yeah, and I would be doing those people a _big_ disservice if I backed down and cowered behind corporate protections just to save my own ass. I live in service to one thing - the truth - and a lot of people want to shut me up. If I hide… I’m no better than them.”

He exhaled.

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

Not that his self-preservation instinct was any stronger. He was just lashing out. She grinned.

“Yeah. I know. You did your part - you tried to warn me. I’m not your responsibility. You can’t protect me, and you can’t save me. You need to let that go right now, Adam.”

The golden light of Detroit’s skyline silhouetted him as he stood. She saw the curve of his lower back, the cut of his shoulderblades, lean musculature whether flesh or not. It would be hard for him to let it go. He considered himself a protector, above all else - especially when a woman was involved. It was his instinct, the archetype he moved to fill before any other. It was endearing, if not clumsy and frustrating. She couldn’t help but smile.

A message came through on his commlink.

“Your door was busted down, off it’s hinges, but everything else seems fine. Your cat is safe.” A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, good.”

“Will you at least stay here tonight? And let me help you out with a better security system?”

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, and then nodded.

He insisted she sleep in his bed - he would take the couch. She left her boots in his living room, and before she went to bed she stopped in front of him and smiled.

“Thanks, Adam.”

He didn’t sleep on the couch that night like he said he would. He didn’t really sleep at all. He sat at his desk chair and drank and entire bottle of scotch as he watched Charlie sleep - a delicate, misshapen lump beneath the bedspread. She curled herself up into a ball, pulled her knees close to her chest and wrapped the blankets around her fists so she could pull them right up to her chin, made herself as small as possible. It was the way someone slept when they’d never really quite felt safe anywhere in a long time. He felt a pang of sympathy. It was so strange, so novel. A girl, in his bed… of all the things he never expected. Not after what happened to him. He watched her chest rise and fall, saw the shadows her eyelashes cast on the top of her cheek through filtered golden rays of electroluminescence that cut through the blinds. He felt, in his heart, unsettled.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’ve got a hit on Wilson.”

Adam sat a mug of black coffee down in front of Charlie. He didn’t have much in his kitchen besides coffee, scotch, and cereal - lots and lots of horrible, sugary cereal in lurid, brightly-colored boxes splashed with wizards, leprechauns, pirates. One of the few things in his world that wasn’t drab - the other was sitting across from him, tapping at the screen of her commlink. It was nice, far nicer than he expected or would admit, having someone there, in his home, with him through the night and in the morning. Even if was just this once. He raised an eyebrow over his own cup, wordlessly urging her to go on.

“Retired from the force, married with two kids. Still works in private security, though. Belltower. Gotta support his rampant whoring somehow.” She grinned wolfishly. “And you’ll never guess where Belltower has him stationed. Versalife Detroit branch.”

“And Versalife is owned by Page Industries,” Adam replied, grimly.

“Yep.” Her eyes were sparkling, somewhere between anger and excitement. “I can’t believe it. If he can tell me anything, where he got his orders from… it might all be adding up, Adam. I’m going to go over there today, see what I can get out of him.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“What? No, no. This is my own personal stuff, you don’t have to do that. I’ve got enough dirt on him, he should talk. I’m sure you’ve got real work to do.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“You’ve got dirt, but muscle will do good, too. I’m offering, Charlie - let me help.”

“Okay, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.” She smiled and blew on her coffee to cool it down. “Thanks.”

Before they left, she used his bathroom. When she shut the door behind her and saw the shattered mirror above the sink, she was so startled by it she gasped out loud. For a moment she stood with her hands flat on the countertop, waiting for her heart rate to slow down. She looked up at the mirror - cracked from from one central point, half of it clean gone and the other half covered in spiderweb cracks - and knew exactly what sort of impact had fractured it. Her stomach sank, and not for the first time she felt her heart break for Adam Jensen.

 

* * *

 

 

_Fucking pharmaceuticals._

Their offices were all the same. Clinical white, bright lights, logos emblazoned across every surface and a sense of strictly enforced cultish artificial serenity. Adam hated them.

He and Charlie cased the lobby for a while. Wilson sat at a security desk at the beginning of a corridor that branched off left from the main chamber. It led to an elevator which led to the executive offices. He only spent about half his time at his desk - the other half was spent at a water cooler in an employee lounge around the corner, or out on the left side of the building smoking cigarettes. That’s where they decided to approach him.

Despite the sun hanging high above them, it was bitterly cold, and Charlie squinted against the wind as they advanced on the security guard. He looked to be in his mid-to-late 40s, fat and unremarkable with sandy hair and a weak chin.

“Joe Wilson?”

He watched them approach with disinterest, and sneered at her.

“Yeah, who’s asking?”

She walked right up to him, so close it could be nothing but aggressive. He backed up against the stone wall behind him, raising his shoulders as though trying to pull himself away from her.

“What the _hell_ is your problem, lady? Back off!”

“Hi, _Joe_.” Her words dripped with sarcasm, malice, danger. She was good. ”My name is Charlie Winters. I believe you knew my mother - Maria Winters?”

He glared at Charlie and bared his teeth in disgust.

“You’re mistaken, _miss_. Never heard of her. Now leave me the fuck alone.”

Adam then commanded Wilson’s attention by slowly, languidly taking off his jacket, like a panther extending his claws and licking each one clean. His arms shone with a particular sort of meanness in the harsh midday sun. Adam draped his jacket over his shoulder, the motion lifting his elbows just enough to reveal the 10mm holstered beneath his arm. The double whammy - augmented and armed. Wilson’s eyes darted between Charlie and Adam, a hint of panic rising. Charlie placed a foot firmly between the man’s feet, pinning him in place.

“Think a little harder, Joe. Maria Winters. 2023.”

“What, is the fuckin’ Tin Man over here supposed to scare me?” Wilson laughed in Charlie’s face, and dropped his cigarette butt on her boot.

In response, Charlie swiftly and forcefully brought her knee up in to the man’s groin. He doubled over and groaned. Adam smiled as he watched her.

“ _Officer Wilson!_ My mother was murdered in 2023 and you were in charge of her case. I know you were responsible for stopping the investigating and ruling it off as an accident. Tell me why.”

“What makes you think I even remember? Lot of dead bodies crossed my desk. Lot of names.”

Adam stepped forward and crossed his arms.

“Most people would remember covering up the murder of an innocent single mother. But clearly you don’t have a conscience, judging by all the prostitutes you hire behind your wife’s back. We’ve got a datastick here with hotel records, pictures, bank statements, and it would be real easy for it to find it’s way into your wife’s hands. Maybe that would help you remember?”

“Shit, man…” Wilson muttered. _Gotcha_. “Listen…” his eyes darted around anxiously. “Say you’re right, huh? Say I did know she was murdered but report that it was an accident? I don’t know where you think you’re gonna get with the information I have for you. The people who did this, they’re… they’re untouchable.”

“What people?” Charlie growled low, grabbing Wilson by the collar. She was awfully tiny to be so intimidating, but it worked.

“They go through channels, levels. They make bureaucracy work for them. Paperwork, technicalities, chain of command… you never know where an order comes from.”

“No, but you know who gives the order to you, and you can tell me that much.”

“It’s always a Fed. From a different agency every time. Sometimes it’s FEMA, sometimes it’s DOD. This time it was CDC.”

“CDC?” Charlie repeated, raising her eyebrows in Adam’s direction.

“It’s the suit that matters, lady, not the acronym on the badge. They’re all the same - puppets, just like me. Your mother wasn’t murdered, she was assassinated. And the same person who ordered that ordered me and my partner to shut the investigation up real fast. You’re messin’ with something big, bigger than your eyes can see.”

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask. Give me a fucking name.”

“I don’t remember her name. I’m sorry, I honestly don’t. She was from CDC, though. Showed up in my office with some real fucking scary lookin’ Chinese dude - she just called him Crane. I remember that. I think he’s the assassin… the one who did it.”

Charlie released Wilson’s collar and took a step back as the man slumped against the wall behind him. Adam heard her gasp, watched her turn her face away. She was holding back tears, trying not to cry, staggered by the information. No matter what you think you know, it’s pretty difficult to hear that your mother was assassinated. She raised a hand as if to wipe tears from her eyes, but instead she planted her foot on the pavement and spun around, bringing her fist swinging as hard as she could against Wilson’s jaw. Charlie was slender, not built for punching grown men, but she knew how to power her swing and use momentum where she didn’t have muscles. It wouldn’t break anything, or leave a bruise, but it hurt.

“Jesus Christ!” he hissed, raising his hand to his cheek. “I gave you what you wanted, lady, what the hell was that for?”

“Are you kidding?” she laughed, grimacing and shaking out her hand. The punch had hurt her, too. “You covered up my mother’s assassination. I’m leaving now, and you should be glad you’re getting off that easy. Piece of shit.”

She spat at his feet, and turned to leave. For a split second, Adam and Wilson both watched her retreat with the same slack-jawed expression. Then Adam shot the guard a withering glare through his quartz lenses, and hurried to catch up with Charlie, placing a reassuring arm around her shoulders as they walked away.

 

* * *

 

Adam had tried to put it off as long as he could, but there came a certain point where Charlie had to meet Pritchard. He’d been working on two important things - the hacker’s neural hub, and identifying how the hell the hacker got access to Sarif’s networks in the first place. At least they were catching him at a disadvantage. Before entering the Tech lab, Adam pulled Charlie aside.

“Just a warning. This guy is an asshole - that’s just how he is, as a person. If he’s rude to you - which he’s probably going to be - don’t take it personal. It’s just because you’re with me.”

“Ooh,” Charlie wiggled her eyebrows. “Office rivalry?”

“Yep.” Adam spoke low, sarcastic, as he opened the tech lab door.

Half the room was filled with servers, blue lights blinking low, and the other half was a scattered assortment of cannibalized electronics, wires and cables and circuits and casings and darkened detached LED screens. At a desk on the far side of the room, surrounded on all sides by massive computer monitors bathing him in a warm golden glow, was a pale man with his dark hair tied back in a ponytail. As Adam and Charlie walked in, he looked up and regarded them with a cold sort of disinterest - almost like he hadn’t seen them at all, or merely didn’t consider them worth acknowledging.

“Pritchard.”

The man sighed and briefly flicked his eyes up from the screen in front of him to glare at Adam.

“What, Jensen?”

“Wait a second.” Charlie was gawking at Pritchard, her mouth hanging open. “Pritchard? _Francis_ Pritchard?”

He’d been so preoccupied with being disgusted at Adam, he hadn’t even noticed someone else had come in with him. As he looked up at the blonde woman, his expression softened ever so slightly.

“Yes? Do I know you?”

“N-no. I don’t really know you, either, I just know of you. I’ve seen you around at hacking competitions. I’ve never been good enough to place, not like you, it’s just a hobby for me… oh god, I’m rambling, it’s just… you are a _total_ badass.”

Adam groaned. _Great. Looks like Pritchard has a fan. Cause his head isn’t big enough already…_

“Ah, well.” Pritchard’s sneer twisted up into a smirk, and he emerged from behind his desk to greet the woman at Adam’s side. “Always nice to meet someone who can appreciate the intellectual finesse my job requires. And your name is…?”

“Charlie Winters.” She shook his hand eagerly. “And god, it’s not just intellectual finesse. You make it an _art._ Do you think you and I could get coffee sometime? I have so many questions, like how do you plan out the flow of nodes so well? It’s like a dance. And that stop worm virus you wrote last year at the Cyberlympics… if I could just-“

“Pritchard.” Adam cut them off. He literally could not stand listening to the two of them any longer. “Charlie was at Milwaukee Junction. She’s the one who found this dead hacker, so she’s helping me out. You said you got something from his neural hub?”

Pritchard glared. If there was anyone who enjoyed being praised it was Pritchard, and he was loathe to have that interrupted by his least favorite person. Charlie grinned up at Adam sheepishly, as though apologizing for liking Pritchard, as the tech specialist walked back to his desk.

“Two things.” Pritchard spoke to Charlie, like he knew what he was about to say was above what Adam could understand. “First of all, that man who you saw at the plant _wasn’t_ the hacker, and he _didn’_ t shoot himself.”

“Um… not to question you or anything, but… I was standing close enough that his blood splattered all over me. I saw him shoot himself, and I haven’t been able to un-see it since.”

“No, no, I know,” Pritchard waved a hand dismissively, his eyes focused on the computer screen. “What I mean was, he wasn’t in control. That neural hub was a conduit for a signal from an outside source. Someone else was hacking through him.”

“A human proxy.” Adam said, gravely. Contrary to what Pritchard believed, he was following the conversation easily.

“Exactly.” Charlie turned to Adam. “You were right… what you said to David, and Sanders. This guy - Purity First - they were all just dupes. Someone else was pulling their strings.”

Pritchard nodded, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

“And I think I’ve traced that someone’s signal. Conveniently, to an abandoned shipping warehouse here in Detroit. Highland Park. But before you go hunting them down, there’s something you need to take care of first. As I’m sure you both know, there was a… _vulnerability_ in our security systems. The backdoor through which this hacker, whoever they really are, entered. A persistent transmission coming from Derelict Row.”

“That’s DRB territory.”

Pritchard shrugged. “A criminal is a criminal. If these people are able to pose as a Purist, there’s no reason they can’t pose as a Baller. Anyway, whoever put it there… this transmission needs to be shut off, immediately, or Sarif continues to be at risk.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Adam turned to Charlie, about to open his mouth and protest - _you are not going in to gang territory with me, it’s too dangerous_ \- when he remembered their conversation in his living room last night. She was looking up at him with that same look, again. Like it didn’t even occur to her that she should be frightened. And why did he assume she should be? She knew better than he what she was capable of. She’d been by his side every step of the way, and had only ever helped him. In that instant, he felt his perception of her shift distinctly.

 

* * *

 

_It was the same dream - but somehow, different._

_He’d crossed the river. And the night was cooler. He could see drops of midnight dew clinging to the grass and leaves, sparkling like a thousand tiny diamonds in the moonlight. When he inhaled, the air cut through his lungs, cold and wet with a metallic tang. He felt some inexplicable fear building in his core, something pushing at his back, spurring him to run. Whether he was running to something or from something, he did not know - but expected he would find out._

_He had no concept of forest wildlife, no real frame of reference for what truly lived in the woods - his subconscious was trying desperately to piece together something that looked right, and a pack of strange formless beasts with wide, glowing eyes watched him run. Pale, willowy four-legged mammals with horns and antlers made of cigarette smoke. Hulking masses of dark fur tall and short, gleaming flashes of gunmetal chrome where the moonlight hit the plates of metal bolted through their pelts. Small ones, with ears and tails and eyes made of LEDS scrolling data he could neither read nor comprehend. He was being watched. He hated it._

_There was the scream, again. It jolted him, and he tripped over a gnarled tree root. With a gasp he hit the ground hands-first, and in the dark damp grass his right hand began to disintegrate. The polymer casing popped open, the plates that held his palm and fingers together falling to the side. He saw a skeletal assembly of wires and circuitboard, and everything was coming undone. He tried to raise it towards his face, but it was splintering and crumbling so fast he never even saw it look like a hand. He watched in horror as the destruction continued down his wrist and forearm - the entire arm was falling apart, falling off. Suddenly, he heard Megan scream again - this time, even louder, harder, raw. He had to go on. With his remaining hand, he tried to gather up the pieces, hastily grabbing a fistful of whatever mechanical components lay in the grass in front of him. He rose, and kept running, leaving a trail of metal and wires._

_Eventually, the woods opened up to a circular clearing. He came to a skidding halt in the grass. A small pond, shaded by a weeping willow and sat next to a pile of massive moss-covered rocks. Unobstructed by tree cover and reflected in the pond, the moon was so bright he had to shield his eyes. Perched on the rocks was a woman, some sort of female form, glowing luminescent gold like she was formed of the moon’s light in the depths of the water and had temporarily taken corporeal form. She turned, saw him, and rose._

_It wasn’t Megan - he couldn’t make out any of her features, but he knew. Her figure called to mind the weeping willow tree beside her - sinuous limbs, long and languid, her body shaped the same way honey drips. As she approached he saw that she had hair down to her hips, like the Lady Godiva. Soon, he was bathed in her light. She stood before him, but she still had no discernible face._

_“Oh, no.”_

_She spoke sadly, a waterfall of dulcet tones like a chorus of bells, sweetly sonorous. With delicate golden fingers she reached out. His arm was gone up to the elbow - little more than a twisted, mangled mass of wires like severed veins and frayed nerves._

_“You’re broken.”_

_He fell to his knees before her._

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

>umbr4: do you ever feel bad about what we do?  
>z10n: which part? the part where we make a disgusting amount of money and are swimming in pussy?  
>umbr4: no  
>z10n: the part where we get free cranial augs and nu-poz for life, and are smarter faster better than we’ve ever been?  
>umbr4: no dumbass  
>umbr4: i’m more thinking of the part where we have to hire hitmen to take out innocent old ladies  
>z10n: no one is innocent dude. that’s the whole point. we are all compliant. u know what the boss man says  
>umbr4: so what makes it okay for boss man to decide who lives and who dies?  
>z10n: money. power. the same stuff that’s in store for us if you stop asking these stupid questions. what’s up with u dude?  
>umbr4: idk. honestly dealing with crane always skeeves me out. i hate the guy  
>z10n: ya he’s straight-up psycho. just be glad we can deal with him remotely this time and don’t have to go back to hengsha.  
>umbr4: man, fuck that place. if i never have to sleep in one of those fcking pods again…  
>z10n: cute girls, though, and good drink  
>umbr4: yeah. cute girls.

 

 


	8. 9\26\27:hypotheticals

_The Cat & The Hound _

_9/26/27 21:35:18_  
_hypotheticals_

_People are after me._

_I have to be careful what I say._

_So let’s talk in hypotheticals for a moment, shall we? Say, hypothetically, a biotech company was attacked by a team of highly trained mercenaries and an entire team of scientists (and their research) was wiped out. Murdered. And maybe, hypothetically, six months later a manufacturing plant owned by the same company is attacked again - by terrorists this time. Purists. And maybe the whole attack is just a smokescreen to get one guy in there - a hacker. To steal something very, very important, valuable, and dangerous from this biotech company._

_Now, what if - humor me, for a moment - what if these two incidents were connected? Hypothetically. What if there was someone bigger, badder, pulling all these strings? What if the mercenaries, the terrorists… they were all just puppets? And what if the puppetmaster was working out of a government agency? The type of government agency that has a secret underground internment camp in an abandoned factory in Detroit? What does the government have against mechanical augmentations? What is their horse in this race? They’re scared. I know that because they got sloppy. They left enough of a trace for the wolf and I to catch their scent. I feel like they have something on the line, something to lose. Hypothetically._

_Now - some solid facts. My mother was murdered. She’d just had her life saved by mechanical augmentations, and was ready to pursue legal action against a very large pharmaceutical company. She was assassinated. I found the officer who covered up her death, and he told me. She was assassinated. My mother. And believe it or not… someone from a government agency gave the order. I don’t know who it was. But I have the name of the assassin, and that’s as good a place as any to start. I’m not sure I’m ready to look into the eyes of the man who killed my mother. Maybe I’ll be more sure by the time I get there._

_I’ll be the first one to admit that I can be prone to heavy-handed romantic ideals like fate and destiny. Things that have no basis in reality and no place in my thought process. I can’t help it. But this time I don’t think it’s just me. We went to that abandoned factory, that secret government internment camp, and we found one of the mercs who attacked that biotech company. He used his last breath to tell us to go to Shanghai, and that we’ve got worse enemies than the government. And just last night I’m digging around and I find this chat log. The assassin is in Shanghai, too._

_Two separate government agencies, two separate trails, both leading us to Shanghai._

_My mom was murdered four years ago. They can’t be connected. They can’t. Right?_

_Anyway. I’ve never been to China before. The wolf will be at my side - thank god. Ni yao bu yao gen wo tiaowu?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: I know they speak Cantonese in Hengsha in-game, but it doesn't romanize as well as Mandarin does.


	9. Clinging Like Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Charlie travel to Hengsha Island in search of a hacker and an assassin.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _That which is bright rises twice:_  
>  _The image of FIRE._  
>  _Thus the great man, by perpetuating this brightness,_  
>  _Illumines the four quarters of the world._  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter! yay! my infinite thanks to those who continue to read, leave kudos, and comment. i appreciate it to the moon and back.

  
_Adam shoved a combat rifle in to Charlie’s hands and folded her fingers around the grip. She was shaking, covered in dirt and sweat._

_“There’s a ladder over there. Get to higher ground - keep climbing until you can’t climb any more. And don’t come down until he’s dead.”_

_Lawrence Barrett laughed in the background - a deep, booming laugh, full of violence._

_“It doesn’t matter, boy scout! I’m coming for that little sunflower as soon as I’m done with you.”_

_Charlie’s blood ran cold and she watched from above. Barrett was at least twice Adam’s size in height and girth, and even more extensively augmented. The man was a brute, but Adam was better. She knew that, of course - she had no reason to be afraid. Adam was invincible. But she couldn’t stop the images flashing through her mind every time Barrett got too close to Adam. His neck snapped, a dozen holes blown through his chest by Barrett’s gattling gun arm aug. He was still flesh where it mattered, still vulnerable. Barrett was right - with Adam gone, there would be nothing standing between Charlie and certain death. But at that point… she might almost welcome it._

_It was a moot point. Adam overtook Barrett easily, using the man’s heft against him, weaving in and out and around in a dazzling display of strategy and intelligence - neither of which were Barrett’s strong suits. Finally, Adam stood over Barrett with his forearm blades withdrawn. They were talking - she couldn’t hear, or understand, mostly from the blood rushing through her own ears. She watched Adam grab Barrett’s head and slam it into the ground. Adam was getting answers, but he had to work for them._

_She saw the change in Barrett’s eyes. The moment he knew he had no fighting chance to escape alive - and the moment he decided he would at least try and take Adam with him. She fumbled against the trigger of the gun in her hands. She watched as Barrett reached, in slow motion, for a pull string on his vest. It was rigged with frag grenades. He would blow himself and Adam both to high heaven._

_It would be a difficult shot, and she was no marksman. Adam was so close, she could potentially hit him on accident. But he didn’t see what Barrett’s fingers were reaching for, and if she didn’t take the shot…. she swallowed hard, squinted, and pulled the trigger._

_Before he could pull the string, Barrett’s mechanical fingers were smashed, obliterated by a .303 bullet. Quickly, Adam looked down. As soon as he realized what Barrett had been trying to do, he slid his forearm blade up under Barrett’s chin. A spray of blood and a wet choking sound, and Barrett was dead. Adam stood and tapped his temple to retract his lenses, turning to look up at Charlie. Wide-eyed and breathing hard, crouched on her knees and holding the rifle with white knuckles like it was her last hope on earth. She’d just saved his life._

* * *

 “Charlie!”

The voice of Charlie’s editor, Edward, came through speaker on her commlink.

“The phones are ringing off the hook back here at the offices! That coverup story hit big. DPD is _pissed off_.” He sounded positively gleeful. This was a newspaper that did not shy from controversy. “And David Sarif visited to thank me _personally_.”

She smiled. This would certainly buy her some time.

“Well, isn’t it your lucky day? So then… I don’t suppose you’d mind me jetting off to Shanghai for a week or so?”

“Fine. But you’d better bring me back something just as good as this. You just set a real high bar for yourself.”

After the word ‘fine,’ she had tuned him out. She opened her email, and the topmost entry had grabbed her attention. Edward was still talking, and she mumbled some noncommittal goodbye so it wouldn’t be as rude to hang up on him. The email filled her screen.

 

from: cassandra_reed@norcalcancercentre.sf  
to: cwinters@detroitfreepress.net

Subject: (No subject)

Thank you.

* * *

 Charlie spent most of the VTOL flight intently focused on the datapad in her hands. It was a Cantonese phrasebook. Adam could hear her stumbling over foreign sounds under her breath, repeating the words and phrases over and over again until they sounded like some approximation of what seemed right to her. He knew a little bit of Cantonese, and… it sounded absolutely nothing like what she was muttering.

“You don’t have to do that, you know. I have a cranial aug that provides instantaneous translations.”

“Yeah, but I don’t.” Charlie kept her eyes fixed down on her reading.

Faridah’s voice crackled over the PA system. She was laughing.

“Smart woman. I like her!”

Adam’s commlink buzzed, and he looked down to a message from David.

 

_D. Sarif: Typhoon has been delivered. Charlie free to go whenever. Free to stay, too. Thinking about offering her a job when you all get back from Hengsha. We could use a new media liaison. Watch her closely. I’ll be expecting a report._

Honestly, Adam didn’t have to be told to watch Charlie closely. He felt compelled to. He had no choice in the matter. In any scene she was a part of, his eyes were drawn to her first, involuntarily. Her mannerisms were growing familiar to him, now. When she was anxious, she bit her nails. When made to wait, she hooked her thumbs through the belt loops on her jeans and hunched her shoulders to make herself small. When she was thinking intensely, she took her glasses off, folded them in her hand, and pinched the bridge of her nose. When she felt embarrassed, or shy, or unsure, she would tuck her hair behind her ear and bite her lower lip - _God_ , that one was his favorite.

His years of tactical training gave him a keen awareness of when he was being watched, too - and it seemed any time his eyes weren’t on Charlie, her eyes were on him. There wasn’t an aug on earth that didn’t know very well the feeling of eyes on their back. Usually it was a threat of violence, or thinly veiled disgust accompanied by scandalized whispers. There was no trait of any of that in Charlie’s gaze. He was no fool, and he’d known her long enough to know that she watched him because she liked what she saw. He’d never expected a woman to look at him like that ever again, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Mostly, it made him want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, ask her what on Earth was wrong with her that she would ever be attracted to a man like him. _Would you be attracted to a gun? To a tank? To a fighter jet? That’s all I am._

For the very first time since becoming augmented, he felt a nagging voice at the back of his mind. It sounded a lot like hers - and it was telling him, quite emphatically, that those things he thought about himself simply were not true.

* * *

Hengsha. _The Jewel of the Yangtze River._ Charlie had her face plastered to the window, hands pressed flat, eyes wide and mouth agape as they made their approach. It was magnificent, beyond anything she’d ever seen in her life. A massive, hulking metropolis, glittering with a thousand different pinpoints of light - each one a person, a life, a tiny universe in and of itself. And the Pangu… she’d studied it, and seen pictures of it, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of it. A city on top of a city, a massive structure stacking skyscrapers atop skyscrapers to heights that were hard to properly fathom. It sprawled out and up, a testament to humanity and it’s obsession with growth, a true monument of technological achievement. And rising up in the center of it all, gleaming valkyrie white, was Tai Yong Medical tower. Tai Yong owned the city - and that was more than a figure of speech. The Pangu only existed because of Tai Yong, and most of the citizens (upper and lower) were under their employ. They had a symbiotic relationship - Tai Yong supported the city, fed into it’s growth, and the occupants worked tirelessly to make Tai Yong successful enough for it to do that. For a moment, gazing upon the city, Charlie had a vision of a similar future for Detroit, a vision that her hometown would grow to such incredible heights under the guiding hand of David Sarif. Adam stood behind her, and she turned to look at him over her shoulder.

“He’s in there somewhere, Adam. The man who killed my mother.”

Adam knew he was there in an official capacity to find the hacker that had attempted to steal the Typhoon through a human proxy - but somehow, that seemed a great deal less important. He’d never considered himself a particularly empathetic person, but he seemed to have some sort of unusual connection with Charlie, and it was becoming more and more common that he looked at her and felt - not just knew, _felt_ \- what she was feeling. Back at Highland Park, they’d caught a glimpse of the team of mercs that had attacked Sarif Industries, and with Charlie’s help Adam had been able to take out Lawrence Barrett. But the leader, the one who wore his muscles outside his skin, the one who’d shot Adam in the head and taken Megan, was still at large. If Adam could get his hands on that man… if he had the chance to find him, hunt him down, ask him why and _make him pay_ … electrodes fired and he felt mechanical muscles in his forearms twitch and contract in some sort of involuntary, anticipatory reflex. From the way her fingers pressed desperately against the thick tempered glass of the VTOL window, he knew she was going through the same thing.

David bunked them in a lower city hotel - one of the few that wasn’t a capsule hotel or a brothel. It was thirteen stories of dingy concrete, balconies rising above the neon signs and crisscrossed power cables that filled street level, a vertical sign out front blinking red LED letters - _ORACLE_. Three rooms spread out in the same seventh floor corridor. The rooms were outfitted with stylish, minimalistic furnishings, and relatively clean - though decay crept in at every corner. They convened in Faridah’s room, the girls sitting crosslegged on the bed while Adam paced in front of the window.

Hengsha Court Gardens, the building Lawrence Barrett had sent them to before he died, was on lockdown, under protection of Belltower Security - this much they deduced from a quick radio frequency scan. In fact, Belltower seemed to be acting as the patrolling police force in lower Hengsha. This was not surprising - it was likely the city government only cared to use it’s resources protecting the citizens of the upper city. Charlie pulled up a 3D layout of the building, and security camera feeds from the nearby public square. Like much of Hengsha, it was filled with merchant stalls - food carts where wizened old men worked over steaming woks of eel noodles or _xiaolongbao_ soup dumplings, souvenir shops that sold lace fans and lacquered boxes and hair combs and cheap polyester qipao dresses, newsstands and stalls where thick hot coffee was ladled into styrofoam cups for Tai Yong workers early each morning. The front entrance was heavily guarded, of course - she hadn’t even considered that it wouldn’t be. After a few moments of digging, she found an open vent off to the left side of the building. It led into one of the second floor condos.

“I’ll stay here, be on standby if you need me. Crawling through vents is more your speed, Adam. And I guess yours too, now, Charlie.” Faridah’s eyes sparkled playfully.

“What about the assassin?” Adam turned to Charlie.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, and looked up at him - the one when she was nervous.

“Honestly, I don’t really know where to start with him. Let’s follow this trail for a while, and see if we catch any leads.”

He nodded.

“I’m with you.”

* * *

They found an empty penthouse, with a hole blasted through the bedroom wall. It was still smoking, and it gave way to a small hidden room filled with computers and monitors and wires and cables, post-it notes and empty cans and wooden chopsticks. A hacker’s den.

 _“Shit,”_ Charlie hissed, leaping over the crumbled wall and rushing to the keyboard. “We just missed him.”

“Can you get anything off his computer?”

She nodded, her eyes focused on the screen, her fingers working quickly. She may not have been as good a hacker as Pritchard, but she was better than Adam, and he was glad to have her. It seemed they picked up each other’s slack in a way that was convenient and felt natural. Charlie opened up the hacker’s email, scanned the few available entries, and quickly copied them to a datastick.

“Hacker goes by the name of Windmill. Real name is Arie van Bruggen. He was working for someone called ‘Dragon Lady,’ but he botched the job and pissed off his boss. Belltower shut this building down just to arrest him - so whoever this Dragon Lady is, she’s got some serious pull in this town. Seems like once he realized he was in the shit, he sent out an email to this guy - Hive Master, with an email address pointing back to something called The Hive - for an out, and bailed.”

“The Hive is a nightclub, in the Kuaigan district.” Faridah’s voice came crackling through Adam’s infolink. “It’s a major hub for the black market. Triad business goes through there like crazy.”

“I bet ‘Hive Master’ is the club’s owner, huh?” Charlie tucked the datastick in to her messenger bag.

“Yep. Tong Si Hung, so you can ask for him by name.” Faridah offered helpfully. She knew Hengsha better than either Adam or Charlie.

“And if the underground goes through it… might be a place where we can find something out about this assassin.”

She nodded firmly, looking up at him as if to thank him for not forgetting, and they left the penthouse.

* * *

The Hive was a two-floor display of good, cohesive design and decorative LED lighting. Every color that wasn’t black was golden amber, and every shape was a hexagon grouped together with other hexagons to form honeycomb lattices. The walls pumped out remarkably loud techno music, and a hypnotic bassline churned itself out and pressed against every surface. It was around 10pm on a Friday, still a bit early for the place to be truly packed. They shouldered through a meager crowd, to the bar.

The bartender would tell them nothing until they bought drinks. They were presented with two shot glasses of some brightly colored, lurid orange liquid, and they shrugged at each other before downing the shots in unison. It was sweet - drinks in clubs like this were always sweet, and not to either of their tastes. They both liked something that tasted like liquor - something that burned going down.

“You wanna talk to Tong? Check the VIP lounge upstairs.”

The VIP area was even less crowded - at tall two-person tables, men tried their hardest to seduce women, to dazzle them with expensive bottles of champagne and other such audacious displays of wealth. On black leather sofas were draped salarymen in various stages of ‘too drunk’, groups of girlfriends sitting with their knees close together giggling and gossiping. Working the bar was a man with one arm metal, one arm meat, his white hair cropped short and a port wine stain covering the right half of his face and neck in angry red. He was old, but not elderly - not frail in the least, solidly muscled and thoroughly mean. He was wiping the bartop down with a rag and scowling out at the crowd.

Charlie nudged Adam.

“Let’s ask him about Tong.”

 _“Wait.”_ Adam commanded. Charlie had already moved forward, and he gently grabbed her hand to stop her. His black fingers closed completely around her wristbone, and she felt the floor drop out from underneath her. The smallest actions became earth-shattering with him. He pulled her back to his side, and directed her gaze beyond the bar.

“Look at the bouncers.”

Two beefy men in Hive t-shirts stood with their arms crossed on the other side of the room. A bouncer’s job is to watch the crowd - keep an eye out for any potential sources of trouble, observe and react. These bouncers weren’t watching the crowd. They were watching the old man behind the bar - like hawks, they were watching him. Whoever that old man was, he was important - important enough to be the owner of the club. He _was_ Tong Si Hung. Working the bar.

“ _Oh_ , Adam. You’re good.”

“I’ve just been on my fair share of security details. Let’s go have some words with the Hive Master.”  
  
They approached the bar, and Charlie took the lead.

“Tong Si Hung?” she asked. The old man perked up instantly, in the way that someone who’d just been addressed by name always does. That sort of involuntary reaction was hard to train out, and he was caught off-guard. Before he had time to react, to cover up his tell, Charlie pushed forward.

“My associate and I have some questions for you. We’re looking for some people, and we believe you might know where they are.”

The old man glared at her, and said nothing.

“A hacker. Arie van Bruggen. And… a _professional._ Calls himself Crane.”

Tong’s demeanor changed instantly, and the bouncers took note. He leaned over the bar with his shoulders raised high and cold sharp violence in his eyes. When he spoke, he hissed.

“Be _quiet_ , god dammit. Follow me. We’ll speak in my office.”

* * *

Tong Si Hung’s office was in the basement of the Hive. Bare, industrial walls and floors, exposed lightbulbs hanging from wires, and an impressive computer setup. The thrumming bass was muted by layers of concrete in a way that made you feel like it might be part of your subconscious. The door slammed behind them, and Tong turned on Charlie immediately.

“You very stupid, and very lucky, _laowai_ _._ If you’d come into my bar throwing that name around last year, I’d have shot you down where you stand. I still might.”

Adam bristled, and angled his body slightly so as to place himself between Charlie and the large, angry, augmented Chinese gangster in front of her. This time, she was glad for it - for all the posturing about not being afraid she’d done earlier, these were hotter waters than perhaps any others she’d found herself in. She wouldn’t show it, though. She clenched her fists down low and puffed out her chest.

“You’re gonna have to clarify, Tong. I gave you two names. I’d like to know which one is harmless, and which one I might get shot over.”

Tong smirked up at her. He might have been angry, but he could always appreciate a fast tongue. He sat down at his desk, crossing his arms.

“Neither is harmless. Only one will get you shot here. The other will get you thrown in a Youzhao jail. First, we’ll tackle Crane, because you need to know never, never, _ever_ to speak that name in Hengsha, ever again.”

“Okay, well do you know where I can find him? He-who-shall-not-be-named?”

Tong rolled his eyes.

“Lose the attitude, girl. The Crane is retired, out of the game. He still lives here in Hengsha. You might find him, if you ask around using his real name. Wu Yi Zheng. It’s what he goes by, now.”

Charlie closed her eyes and inhaled. _Wu Yi Zheng_. That was his name. The man who killed her mother. It made her a little dizzy. She felt Adam’s presence beside her. He sensed her reeling, and stepped in.

“Any idea where we can start?”

Tong shrugged.

“He keeps a low profile. But he is a whoremonger. Ask the girls at the Hung Hua Hotel.”

“And van Bruggen?”

Tong raised an eyebrow.

“Windmill is being pursued. By very powerful, very dangerous forces. He is at the Alice Garden Pods - for now. He may not be there much longer. I would hurry, if I were you.”

* * *

Adam took the Garden Pods, and Charlie took the Hung Hua.

She didn’t enjoy being separated from him, alone in a foreign city, but they were in nearly constant communication via commlink. This was why she’d studied that phrasebook. Even still, a girl like her, alone in lower Hengsha… she never really felt safe. She had no augmentations, so the Harvesters wouldn’t be interested, but they were far from the only danger. Eyes followed her, like vultures, down every street. Her right hand stayed tucked under her jacket, grasping her stun gun firmly.

Hung Hua was ostentatious, obviously a brothel - hot pink neon LED silhouettes of female figures flashed on the doors and signs, and everything was a blinding shade of pink or red. Even the name - hung hua. _Red flower._ She felt bashful even going inside, but she did it anyway. She was undeterred. And she’d certainly rather be going in to a brothel alone than going in to a brothel with Adam. Her cheeks burned just thinking about it. She’d been trying rather hard to ignore her attraction to Adam, the slideshow of shuddering erotic images that played out behind her eyelids each night, the little questions that flashed through her mind every time he did something with his hands or took off his jacket or looked at her a certain way or spoke or did pretty much anything. A good three-quarters of her time was spent lost in inescapable specular fantasy. What would those magnificent hands feel like closing around her throat, or grasping the softest parts of her hips, or tangled up in fistfuls of her hair? How would his voice feel vibrating against her skin, murmuring languid formless syllables of pleasure, whispering in her ear? She imagined his shoulders above, her hands grasping at them as he fucked her, or below, muscles shifting and polymer gleaming as he buried his head between her thighs. _God,_ she wasn’t usually like this, and it was constant, it was _dizzying_. She shook her head and walked into the Hung Hua.

The bar. Always to the bar, first. If not because it was usually the central hub of information, because she needed something stiff to shake the lewd thoughts from her mind. She ordered gin from a good-natured, round-faced bartender, and tossed it down her throat with ruthless efficiency. Not a moment after her glass was empty, she was approached. A slender, pale hand with long crimson nails, well-manicured and elegant, draped itself across her wrist.

“Welcome to the Hung Hua, _lamei._ ”

Charlie looked up, and locked eyes with one of the most astonishingly beautiful women she’d ever seen. Her dark hair was cropped short near her jaw, and straight bangs framed heavy-lidded almond eyes rimmed stylishly with kohl. She held a cigarette between her fingers, and Charlie watched her place it between her lips and take a draw. Vermillion-red lacquer transferred from the woman’s full, heart-shaped lips to the filter tip of her cigarette - a most beautiful besmirching. The woman parted her lips slightly and let smoke rise up and out in lazy, hypnotic swirls. Charlie blinked and floundered wordlessly.

“You know, not every girl here will service women, but for one as pretty as you…” her voice was richly accented, and she took a lock of Charlie’s golden hair between her fingers, caressing it like silk. “I might insist on taking you myself.”

“ _Ohmygod_ ,” Charlie stuttered, her cheeks burning scarlet shame. “N-no, I’m sorry… I’m very flattered, but that… that’s not what I’m here for.”

“Oh,” the woman said sadly, withdrawing her hand. “In that case, I apologize for being so forward. My name is Mei Suen - and you are…?”

“Charlie Winters. It’s nice to meet you, Mei.”

The two women smiled and shook hands as though one hadn’t been unabashedly hitting on the other a moment prior. Mei sat herself on a barstool next to Charlie.

“So, Charlie, if the girls don’t bring you to the Hung Hua, what does?”

“Well, actually… information. I was hoping.”

Smoke hovered above them, rising to the tufted red velvet ceiling.

“I will help you, if I can.”

“Do you know where I can find a man named Wu Yi Zheng?”

Mei drew her eyebrows together sharply, her reaction to the man’s name instant and involuntary.

“What business do you have with Zheng?”

“The personal kind. I don’t want to hurt him. I just want to talk to him.”

That wasn’t entirely the truth. She might want to hurt him, depending on how the talking went. Mei smirked.

“I wouldn’t mind if you did want to hurt him. We banned him a few weeks ago, for leaving his bills unpaid. Believe it or not, fortune telling does not yield a great deal of fortune.”

“Fortune telling?”

Mei nodded.

“He divines the I Ching for tourists, and old folk. You know I Ching?”

When Charlie shook her head, Mei balled her hand up into a loose fist like she was holding something inside, and shook it.

“Three coins, and he tosses them six times. Each toss creates a line, and together the six lines create a hexagram. _To guide you, consult you, reveal the deepest inner secrets of your psyche_. Or so he says. I’m not superstitious. I don’t buy it.”

Charlie smiled.

“You know, I’m not superstitious either, but I'm such a sucker for things like that - and I could use some guidance. Maybe I’ll ask him to toss the coins for me. Do you know where he works out of?”

“In the basement of a noodle shop in the Youzhao district.”

Charlie nodded, thanked Mei, and turned to leave. But the woman bade her stay with a hand on her arm.

“Wait.”

Charlie turned. Mei looked apprehensive, frightened.

“You have a good heart, Charlie. I can tell. I hate to burden you with this, but I don’t know where else to turn. I fear for our safety. Can I ask for your help?”

Of course, Charlie knew to be wary of scams - a hundred thousand urban legends of gullible tourists swindled out of their money and safety flashed through her mind. But there was that intuition of hers - it was telling her that Mei could be trusted. The distress quivering through her eyes and voice was too genuine to be faked.

“It’s the least I can do. Tell me what you need.”

Mei’s eyes darted around the bar, and she moved closer to Charlie, lowering her voice.

“It’s horrible. Our boss, he… he tries to force us to get augmentations, for the customers’ pleasure. And when we do… we are dependent on him, leashed by the anti-rejection drugs. I’m lucky - I’m the most senior here, so I can still say no. But the newer girls… they can’t, or feel like they can’t. One of them, Ning, went missing a few days ago. She’s only twenty-two. She just moved here from the countryside. I can’t let that happen to her. Will you help? Please?”

Charlie swallowed, hard. Her stomach turned, the horror of what she heard driving her to nausea.

“Yes, yes, of course I will.”

* * *

She called Adam outside, in a quiet alley full of trashcans and bicycles.

“Adam.”

“Charlie.” He greeted her with some softness in his voice. It snagged inside of her.

“You find our hacker?” She was smiling. Why?

“Yeah, I found him. He was hired by Tai Yong Medical. Gave them up real easy - he has no loyalty to them. He was in it for the money.”

“Well, he’s not getting any money now that he botched the job. I’m surprised, somehow, but also not. I mean, it is entirely predictable, but very bold of them. Explains why Belltower was hunting him down.”

“He said there’s a video - security cam - of Tai Yong’s CEO hiring him. Proof. In TYM Tower.”

She whistled. “Well. I’m sure we can get in there no problem, right? Yeah?”

He chuckled. She didn’t hear him laugh often. She wished she heard it more - it was a beautiful sound.

“Yeah, no problem. What about you? Did you find out where Zheng is?”

“I did, he works as a fortune teller now, underneath a noodle shop in the Youzhao district. But, Adam, before we go over there… I made a friend at the Hung Hua. And she needs our help.”

She could practically hear Adam’s muscles tensing as she explained to him the predicament of the Hung Hua’s working girls. If there was anyone who believed augmentation should always be a choice, it was Adam. He would fight tooth and nail to prevent anyone else, even humble prostitutes, from being subjugated to the nonconsensual augmentation that he was. She hadn’t expected him to be anything less than eager to help these girls, and it still took her by surprise - the deadly firmness with which he said he would be right over, the absolute lack of any sort of hesitation to tackle the problem with one-hundred-percent of his energy, even when there were issues at hand that would be considered more important by anyone else. She terminated their phone call and leaned against the dingy concrete wall of the alleyway, clutching her hand at her chest and leaning her head back. Because of the Pangu, if you looked up in lower Hengsha, you didn’t see the stars. You saw gigantic constructs, monstrous in size and scale, made of dark brushed metals with a thousand different seams and compartments and valves and pumps. It was like being underneath a spaceship - and Charlie, she didn’t need to see the stars. She felt them inside of her, still buzzing in her ears, bouncing off her ribcage and pushing themselves through her veins towards her fingertips and toes. It felt like there was no word in any language she knew that carried enough magnitude to properly describe how special a man Adam Jensen really was.

* * *

The next evening, after the missing Hung Hua girl had been found and the boss had been adequately bloodied up by Adam, he and Charlie found the noodle shop in Youzhao and climbed a narrow stone staircase into the basement.

Above a concrete door with cracked and peeling paint hung a brushed metal sign. _FORTUNES_ , it said in handwritten cursive script, gold lettering on a green background with an ornate red border. Adam pulled her aside before she opened the door, his body towering over her, casting a comforting shadow.

“Hey.”

With a tap at his temple, he retracted his lenses and looked right at her. She felt a jolt. Would there ever be a time when she wasn’t unseated by his naked eyes, when the sight of his luminescent ringed irises was old and familiar and unremarkable? She hoped, and yet she didn’t.

“You okay? You ready?”

She drew in a breath, and nodded.

“Yeah. I’m ready. Thank you.”

He covered his eyes once more, and Charlie pushed the door open.

They found themselves in a dark, short corridor. A bell chimed somewhere deeper in. The way ahead was obscured through a short curtain of brushed steel beads, painted with faded, dusty chrysanthemums. The air was thick with sandalwood incense - it stuck to Charlie’s lungs like peanut butter, made it hard for her to breath in the same way that oppressive humidity does. Adam had no such issue, thanks to his rebreather implant. As they walked forward, Charlie pushed aside the beads with her hand. The action created a pleasant, harmonious sound, like chimes. He kept himself close to her.

The corridor opened up to a small room, lit by cheap LED and plastic approximations of red Chinese lanterns. The perimeter of the room was lined with stacks of dormant, dead computer monitors - some draped in old velvet table runners, all with massive thick ropes of cables twining out like the tentacles of some horrible Lovecraftian monster. In the center of the room was a round table - the cheap, flimsy kind that groups of old men unfolded and played cards around. Sitting at the table, shrouded in shadow, was the man who killed her mother.

Wu Yi Zheng appeared to be pushing seventy, but he also appeared to be the kind of man who looked much older than he actually was. That happened when you lived a life of extremes. It seemed like his skin was oversized, too heavy to be held up properly by his bones, and he existed as little more than a melting pile of olive-tan wrinkles. A threadbare shirt was draped over his slumped shoulders, a gaudy tropical print in what had once been bright colors. Both his arms were flesh, but his right hand was mechanical below the wrist, like he was wearing some sort of brushed gunmetal glove. There were dermal markings trailing down the left side of his forehead, tiny blue lines and dots like an approximation of a circuit board - the giveaway of neural augs. And both his eyes were completely artificial, glowing white-blue, glassed over almost as if he had digital cataracts. Like Adam’s black prosthetics, it was a conscious stylistic choice. They made retinal augs that were subtle, realistic - but the fortune teller wanted his eyes to glow like unholy fireflies. Charlie felt her throat tighten.

A small, digital radio sat atop one of the draped monitors, and through low-quality tinny speakers flowed an old Mandarin ballad - from the 50s or 60s, a time when the Chinese were just beginning to fuse their traditional music with American rock n’ roll. It was lilting, melancholy, bittersweet. It made Charlie nostalgic for a time and a place she had never experienced. Without looking up, Zheng flipped open a lighter and lit a cigarette.

“One at a time. Unless you want a couple’s reading.”

His voice was thin and reedy, time-worn, heavily accented. Adam looked over at Charlie. The poor girl was dumbfounded, standing with her mouth hazing open and blank eyes like her brain was short-circuiting. He understood. Brought to face with her mother’s killer. It was a little overwhelming. Gently, he nudged her with his elbow, and stepped forward.

“We want a couple’s reading.”

There was no way he was leaving her alone with this man. A rickety folding chair sat across the table from the fortune teller - Adam pulled the chair out, and Charlie sat. He stood behind her with his hands on the back of the chair - not quite touching her, but close enough to lend reassurance. Strength. Fortification. Only when she sat did Zheng look up at his customers. Adam was monitoring the man’s biometrics, watching carefully for any spike in blood pressure or heart rate, any tell that he knew who the girl sitting in front of him was. There was nothing.

“20 credits. Up front.”

Charlie fumbled at the pocket of her leather jacket. Her fingers felt like they’d been dunked in ice water - stiff, numb, uncooperative. She handed Zheng her credit chip, and he swiped it through a reader. After waiting a few seconds for the payment to clear, he produced a small jacquard pouch from under the table and sat it down next to a battered datapad.

“What are your names?”

“Charlie.”

“Adam.”

He opened the pouch and emptied the contents into his mechanical hand. Three brass coins, round with a square hole through the middle. The type of coins so archaic as to have no connection to actual money. Physical currency didn’t even exist anymore - it was all electronic, all credit. Nobody had used coins or bills in at least ten years, and these coins would have been outdated far beyond use even then. These coins had no conceivable purpose side from ornamentation or precisely this - a fortune teller’s tools.

“Charlie, Adam. Have you ever had an I ching reading?”

They shook their heads no in unison.

“We cast our lots. The fates direct the coins. I toss them six times - the ratio of heads-to-tails is given a numeric value, which corresponds to a line that is either broken or unbroken. Together, the lines form a hexagram, and the Book of Changes tells us how to interpret it.”

Charlie looked like she was listening attentively, but Adam knew what was happening in her mind. A dull roar, a high-pitched frequency droning on and drowning out all other noise. She watched the man speak, her eyes traveling up him and down him, examining the planes of his face, wrapping her head around the significance of his existence. Zheng kept speaking - clearly, this was a rehearsed speech.

“If the two of you have any particular concerns or questions in regards to your relationship, hold them at the forefront of your mind as I toss the coins.”

Charlie looked up at Adam, and he looked down at her. Somehow, it wasn’t hard pretending. Somehow, the questions weren’t far. For the first time, though unspoken, it was dragged out into the open. An emotional fissure opened up between them, and that moment was crystallized.

Zheng began tossing the coins. After each toss he examined - heads, or tails - and with a stylus he made a mark on the screen of his datapad. Charlie’s mind was racing, on two distinct paths - Adam’s warmth behind her, his hands heavy on the back of the chair, and the fact that soon the real reason for her visit was to be brought to light. What would she say? And how? Would her lips even be able to form the words? _I know you killed my mother. Tell me why._ She’d come this far. She couldn’t chicken out. But she might. As if tuned in to her thoughts, Adam let the tops of his fingers brush so slightly against the back of her shoulder. The slightest touch, and she inhaled, gathering her strength to confront the man when he finished his reading.

It seemed like an eternity, the six coin tosses. Finally, he made the final mark on his datapad and turned it towards Charlie.

“Ah, very good. _Li - The Clinging Fire_. Clarity of mind.”

Six hastily drawn lines. Two sets of three - the top and bottom unbroken, the middle broken. Like a two-story house with windows.

“Fire over fire. A double sign. This is very auspicious, particularly in regards to love. For what burns like clinging fire more than love?”

Charlie swallowed hard. Zheng continued his reading. The ballads crooned on in the background.

“What is dark clings to what is light and so enhances the brightness of the latter. A luminous thing giving out light must have within itself something that perseveres; otherwise it will in time burn itself out. Everything that gives light is dependent on something to which it clings, in order that it may continue to shine. The light and the dark are suited to one another - in fact, one cannot exist without the other, like the yin and yang. Through love, you find balance. She brings light where there is none, cuts the brittle cold, illuminates and warms and fascinates. He provides a vessel for the flame, a source, tempers it - she burns for you, with you, _because of_ you.”

It was rehearsed. From a book. But Charlie felt the air buzzing against her skin.

“Changing line at…. four. Ah. Nine in the fourth place means - its coming is sudden. It flames up, dies down, is thrown away. As fire consumes wood, this love consumes all. The brighter the fire, the faster it burns. Some affairs will be remembered for a lifetime… even if they don’t last a lifetime.”

The tension building up in Charlie finally broke, in the way of a nervous laugh. She stifled it with the back of her hand. Adam’s fingers tightened around the back of the chair, and she heard the plastic crack. Zheng let his forearms rest on the table, leaned forward, and pointed his cyber eyes up at Charlie.

“And now that we’re done with that charade. Tong Si Hung called me the moment you left his bar. I know why you’re really here, _kui hua_.”

The air was sucked out of the room. Adam’s translation aug stumbled over the Mandarin - it was unfamiliar, recognized nowhere in any of his thousands of subprogrammed dictionaries.

“Do you?” Charlie’s voice was trembling low. “Tell me, then. Why am I here?”

He snubbed out his cigarette in a heavy crystal ashtray that sat on the table before him.

“I killed your mother. I still remember - It was raining that day.”

A soft, pained cry caught in Charlie’s throat. It _was_ raining the day her mother died. Not a soft, dreary downpour - no. It was violent. It assailed her apartment windows, it made it harder to see more than a few feet in front of your face, it took down power lines and flooded the subway. She remembered. She would remember forever.

“I know. Everyone I have ever killed is beloved of someone else. I do not relish in this fact.”

“But you don’t exactly mind it, either? Do you?”

He shook his head, resigned.

“No. I do not. It’s my job. Death comes for everyone eventually - all I do is guide it’s spectral hand. All I _did_.”

“Yeah,” Charlie sneered. “You’re retired now, huh? Hung up your scythe for the last time? Decided to grow a conscience after you killed the only family I had left in this world?”

“I am sorry.”

She brought her knee hard against the bottom of the table. Wu Yi Zheng’s coins clattered to the floor.

“You don’t get to play grim reaper!” Her voice was thick with angry tears. “You don’t get to decide who lives and who dies!”

He lit another cigarette.

“I do. Regardless of whether you think I should be able to or not. I _do_ get to do that. Very powerful men paid me a great deal of money so I could do that.”

Charlie shot up, the folding chair falling to the ground with a clatter. Her hands slammed flat on the table, and she leaned forward. The lamps cast shadows on her glowering face - deep, dark, muddy red-black.

_“Tell. me. who.”_

Zheng simply looked up at her. She brought herself closer, her voice lowering to a hiss.

“ _Who_ paid you to kill my mother, Zheng? _Tell me._ ”

“I wish I could.”

Adam watched Charlie’s shoulders fall.

“I get my orders from a computer, not a person.”

“Explain.”

For a moment, Zheng hesitated.

“I’m only telling you this because you’re in one of the few places in the world where you could actually reach it. It’s called the Killing Floor. A massive data structure, broken up in to bits and pieces stitched together through untraceable spoofed pathways. It’s how they give orders. Typically, it’s only accessible from an entry point on the Tyrants’ private jet.”

“The Tyrants? What-?”

“He knows.” Zheng gestured at Adam with his cigarette.

“Sorry, fortune teller. You’re mistaken. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Smoke trailed out of the man’s nostrils, like a dragon breathing fire.

“Of course. You don’t know their name yet. Consider this a gift, then. I know who you work for. The mercenaries who attacked your employer six months ago. They call themselves the Tyrants.”

Behind her, Charlie could practically feel anger rising in Adam’s chest. Her heart was pounding violently against her throat - they could potentially get a lot more information here than what they initially came for. _One stone, a lot of birds._

“And the Tyrants get orders from this Killing Floor, too? Does that mean you get orders from the same people as they do?”

“Calm down. I told you. We don’t get orders from people, we get orders from the computer. We have no idea where the data comes from.”

“Then tell me how I can get to that data, and I’ll figure out the person behind it for myself.”

Charlie looked like she was about to strangle him. Adam had never seen her this angry. Her voice was dripping with malice.

“There’s an access point in the CEO’s office atop Tai Yong Medical tower. My personal passcode is still active. It’s _oracle._ ”

Suddenly, she was no longer interested in the fortune teller in front of her. She turned back to look at Adam. Their eyes locked, and no words need be spoken. _Let’s go._ They turned to leave.

“Wait!”

Zheng called out weakly from behind them as they began to push their way through the beaded curtain. They stopped, and the beads fell flat with a descending chime.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?”

Charlie turned, her fists balled up so hard her nails were digging in to the skin of her palm. She said nothing.

“Don’t you want revenge?”

She never looked back at Adam for guidance, but he was watching her so intently. He saw the tears gather against the eyelashes in the corners of her eyes. He saw hot red rising in her cheeks, saw her chest heave with increased rapidity like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. He saw her eyes - proud, angry, burning like iron - travel up and down Zheng’s form, appraising him. After a heavy beat, she responded.

“No. You get to live with yourself.”

And with a sound like an angel’s harp, she was gone. Adam followed.

As soon as she was out on the street, Charlie gulped air into her lungs frantically like she’d been holding her breath the entire time they’d been in there. For a moment, she clung to the railing at the top of the stairs, the ground spinning beneath her feet. Night in Hengsha went on around her - the street was full of TYM workers, young men with flashy metal arms, groups of students and the occasional working girl. Most kept their eyes ahead, but some turned to gawk at the emotionally compromised _gwailo_ gasping for breath on the side of the street. She turned as Adam approached at her stead.

“Well,” she sniffled slightly, pressing the back of her hand against her eyes. “All roads lead to TYM Tower. I guess we know wh-“

“Hey.”

Gentle, firm, he cut her off. He caught her wrist, moved himself closer to her. The slightest gasp escaped her lips. He was going to ask if she was okay, but he didn’t have to. The question hung unspoken in the air. Charlie felt it welling up - she was going to cry. She didn’t want to cry in front of him, not like this - there was no place to hide her face, nothing to shield the bare intensity of emotions that beat so violently against her insides. This wasn’t the time to cry. They had so many more important things to worry about. She was a distraction, a burden, a silly girl and a hindrance… and that just made the tears fight to be released even harder.

Before the first sob could wrest itself from her throat, Adam had pulled her into his arms. For a short moment she cried there, on the street outside a noodle shop in the Youzhao district, enveloped in strength that could crush walls and bones with equal ease. She buried her face in the high-tech microfiber of Adam’s black trenchcoat. He smelled like cigarette smoke, cold steel, and oud. She felt the bar that had been implanted in his chest to support the weight of all the metal bolted to his body, and beyond that she could hear his heartbeat. It filled her completely. After a moment, she took a breath and wiped her eyes.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the killing floor is a construct from the novel Deus Ex: The Icarus Effect. and i am bending it's canon properties a little.
> 
> if you can't tell, smut is coming soon. maybe next chapter??? :0 :0 :0 will place appropriate content warnings. 
> 
> join me on [ tumblr ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com/)


	10. Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a hotel room in Hengsha, Adam and Charlie find grace together.
> 
>  
> 
> _1_  
>  _a : unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification_  
>  _b : a virtue coming from God_  
>  _c : a state of sanctification enjoyed through divine grace_  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW CONTENT WARNING: this chapter is smut. pure, dirty, horrible smut. there is nothing here but smut. if you don't want to read smut you can skip it (or skip to the first line break for some slightly story-important post-sex cuddling.) god help us all.
> 
> content warnings for dysphoria and subtle asphyxiation

 

It starts with no grace.

Awkward, desperate fumbling like a child trying to learn how to ride a bike.

You make it a few wobbly, terrified feet forward before crashing to the ground in a horrible way that is both painful and embarrassing.

Or like learning how to knit.

You’ve had these fingers your whole life, and now they fail you? Have you forgotten how to use them? How have they become so stiff, so unresponsive? You struggle. It is uncomfortable and unfulfilling, and you must do it for a long time before that changes.

That’s what his whole life feels like, now. Hands that don’t work. A crash. Pain, embarrassment. Uncharacteristic incompetence and a horribly frustrating inability to do anything about it. So, it makes sense that it starts with no grace. Maybe that makes it better, too.

They’ve been drinking _baiju_ at a sidewalk dumpling stand in Hengsha. Tomorrow they will infiltrate Tai Yong Medical tower, but tonight they can do nothing, and so they drink. Like many other similar Asian spirits, _baiju_ is clear and mean and gets you hammered _fast_. Unless you’re Adam Jensen and have an implanted Sentinel RX Health System that filters out the alcohol quicker than he can feel it. It’s okay. He still tries. He drinks like it’s a race, like if he can just get enough of it down in time he might start to feel it, a little bit, for a just a minute. Softening the tension he holds in his temples. Pushing the pain down, muffling the screams.The things he carries with him everyday are bordering on unbearable. If he could numb it, for just a second. That’s all. So he drinks like it’s a race and first prize is peace of mind. He knows better than to think drunkenness is peace of mind but it’s better than the chaos.

He can’t, though. Not with liquor. And she holds it well - she’s in that perfect dusk of intoxication. Inhibitions are unlaced ever-so-slightly and a pleasant buzz settles over her limbs which suddenly feel featherlight floating on air. She is lucid, and she is present. But she is a little tipsy. He finds himself overwhelm by the beauty of her. It’s always been what attracted him to her the most - how unguarded she was. It was amplified. Like the sun, it hurt to look directly at her. Her eyes burned too bright and he was scared of what he might find there.

You’d think the Pangu would block the rain from lower Hengsha, wouldn’t you? It makes it worse. The upper city is covered, shielded, and somehow the rain just gets funneled down even more efficiently into the lower city. Sometimes it’s literally like buckets. Big, angry jets of water coming down hard and fast. When lower Hengsha hears the crack of thunder, everybody scatters and finds shelter. You wait, smoking cigarettes, under a shop awning or in an alleyway or in one of the spots that is shielded by a building or a Pangu construct. They don’t know this, and with an incredible roar water begins throwing itself violently onto the streets. In an instant they are soaked, shocked, laughing.

He pulls her in to an alley, opens his jacket and envelops her. She looks up at him and he can’t hide from the sun anymore and he was right to be scared. What he sees in her eyes is something he can’t name. Something he can’t run from. Something he can’t fight. It’s adoration and it’s pure and it has no ulterior motive and that means he either has to find some fault in her or accept that he is a man worthy of being looked at that way. He looks at her - hair sopping wet and sticking to her skin, droplets of wetness dusting every surface and sparkling under the city neon like crystal. He watches one gather on the tip of an eyelash and fall, cascading down her cheek and landing to rest on the pillow of her upper lip. He can find no fault, anywhere. She stands on her toes and kisses him, rain-wet in an alley in Hengsha, and it’s only then that Adam Jensen begins to feel drunk.

It’s a hungry kiss. She’s been dreaming of it for a very long time, and he doesn’t realize how bad he’s needed it until it happens. This is where the lack of grace begins. When a dam breaks, the water doesn’t plan it’s course carefully. It just goes. His hands scramble to find something, whatever he can - one clasps the small of her waist and the other cups her cheek, black fingers tangling through wet blonde hair. She is disarmed by the force of him, and some sound escapes her lips - somewhere between surprise and pleasure.

He takes her by the hand and pulls her through the street. They do not worry about getting rained on because they won’t need clothes where they’re going. She laughs and wipes the rain from her eyes. Everything she sees is alight, glowing. He tries not to think. If he thinks he’ll trip himself up. For once, he doesn’t fight his emotional response, and he lets himself be overcome with the need to have her, _take her_.

As soon as the door of their hotel room closes behind them, he has her up against the wall. He pins her there with the heft of his body and she arches against him as they kiss. He tastes like cigarettes, of course - he is smoking constantly. She doesn’t mind it. She likes it, actually. It’s somehow comforting. He places a hand against the wall beside her and the other finds her throat, forcing her chin up, his lips burning a trail from her jaw down to the curve where neck slopes to shoulder. It shivers like a hot knife down her spine, an aching sensation between her shoulderblades, and she feels warmth pooling in her core. He pushes her jacket off her shoulders, and as it falls to the floor she lifts her arms to let him remove her shirt. No grace, but somehow all the more deeply erotic for it’s clumsy desperation. He places his mouth close to her ear, he inhales, and suddenly he steps back.

“It’s… it’s been a long time, for me.”

He’s scared. She’s never seen him scared, and she never will again. Of course - what could be more frightening to him than this? Her heart breaks, and she reaches out to touch his face, trailing her fingertips lovingly along the dermal implants at his temples.

“It’s okay, Adam.” She is beaming. “It’s just me. Nothing you do will be wrong.”

And his lips find hers again like coming up for air, like he can’t breathe unless it’s through her. He slides his hands up her ribcage. For the first time his mechanical hands touch her bare skin and her world collapses. _Warmer than metal, cooler than flesh_. The polymer is brushed smooth and completely unyielding and pulsing with dormant strength and electromagnetic signals. There’s some sort of microscopic weave lining his palms and fingertips - it’s embedded with sensory modules. It wicks the raindrops off her skin. With a hand on his chest she pushes him back, looks straight up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. He is gasping for breath. He doesn’t like being cut off from his source of air. But then she begins to undress him.

She does so slowly, deliberately, and with great care. With every piece of clothing she removes, his anxiety grows, but he lets her. The layers he keeps between the bare reality of himself and the world. To let her break them down, to watch her peel them off piece by piece… it is an exercise in courage. His fingers twitch. She maintains eye contact - intense, unrelenting. It remains unbroken even as she tugs his shirt off and tosses it unceremoniously across the room. He is sure, now, that she will turn away in disgust. It will be worse than she expected. He is a monstrosity - she will see that now. He prepares himself for the inevitability of it - they will both sober up instantly. She will leave and go back to her own room. It will never be spoken of again. He’ll have to get used to it - it’s his life now. She takes a step back, to look at him, and he swallows hard.

What happens then, in her eyes… it’s strange, and foreign, and he has a hard time processing it. She takes him in slowly, her eyes traveling up and down his form leisurely like she’s trying to savor it. Of course, it’s shocking - there are very few people on Earth as extensively augmented as Adam. Her gaze catches where bands of black polymer stretch in from his shoulders and are bolted down. She sees the bar running across his chest, raised beneath the skin, and the lattice of bolt ports holding it in place, dotting his sternum and collarbones. She’s always loved his arms, but all of it together - flesh juxtaposed against gleaming black metals, all of it sculpted of the same astonishingly perfect musculature. It’s staggering. It touches her someplace deep, primal. It’s a thousand times more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. She’ll see this behind her eyelids every night for a very, _very_ long time. She looks up at him with rapture in her eyes.

“ _Good god_. You’re _incredible._ ”

He could cry. But he doesn’t. Now, there is grace. He is fast upon her, and with a gentle nudge he lifts her and she wraps her legs around his waist. He supports her easily with his hands on the back of her thighs. Nothing has ever felt more right, and as she leans down to kiss him her hair still dripping with rainwater curtains down. He carries her over to the bed and gently, lovingly, lays her down. She sinks into plush white hotel bedding and calls to mind the Venus resting in her shell. Now it’s his turn. He kneels at her feet and unlaces her boots. She props herself up on her elbows to watch him - once again he calls to mind a luxurious, deadly jungle cat circling their prey in anticipation of the feast. She is happy to be preyed on by him, and will gladly offer herself up to be feasted upon. His fingers dance along the bare skin above the button of her jeans as he undoes them, and she lifts her hips to help him yank them off. In her nakedness, she reminds him of places he’s never been, things he’s never seen. A field of wildflowers. A dirt path. The countryside, sun-warmed skin, nature and innocence and honeysuckle. Her skin is freckled, and dusted with the finest blonde hairs. She is the perfect example of the accidental perfection of humanity. Purely flesh, no tech. She is everything the opposition says augs like him threaten to destroy. But he’s never felt more comfortable with himself than he has naked at her side. Now, there is nothing between them. Her bare skin slides against his and every millimeter where they touch is lit up with a thousand tiny electrical sparks firing. It’s been _so long_.

He rises above her, propped on an elbow, and his free hand skates against the curves of her body. When metal fingers cup her breast and catch her nipple, she whimpers. She reaches for him desperately, one hand anchored on the back of his neck the other exploring the terrain of his chest and arms, examining with tactile sense what she took in with her eyes earlier. She cannot help the way her body writhes against him. His hand stops to rest on the flat of her hip and he brushes his lips against her jaw.

“I haven’t been with anyone since…” he flexes his hand against her, and she gets the picture. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“It’s okay,” he watches her lips curve, a dizzy smile.

He doesn’t know why, exactly, but that shatters his last shred of hesitation, breaks the remaining tension with a clean snap. He will have her now. Her breath catches in her throat as he grabs a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck and forces her head back. His hand finds it’s way between her legs, dragging through the dusting of silky honey-blonde hair there. She parts for him eagerly, and curls herself into his hand. For him, she is already dripping, and his fingers enter her as his thumb presses against her clit. He _could_ kiss her, let her cries die muffled in his mouth. He won’t - he wants to hear her moan, he wants to feel the sounds she makes against his lips as he brushes them against her throat. Not for the first time, he mourns the dulled sensation in his prosthetic fingers. He feels the heat and the slick, but so many of the nuances are lost. He knows what it’s like down there - velvet and silk are cheap approximations of her womanhood. His fingers may not be able to feel it fully, but his tongue can. He moves down her body with his lips, leaving kisses at her collarbone, the upper curve of her breast, the hollow of her ribcage, the softest part of her stomach just inside her hipbone, the swell of her thighs. She feels his beard against the hypersensitive skin there. At the first touch of his tongue, every cell in her body is searing with fire. She tosses her head back, squeezes her eyes shut, she is gasping for breath like suddenly she’s on the surface of the moon and there’s no oxygen in the atmosphere. His tongue kneads relentless circles into her, and he enters her with two mechanical fingers. _Colder than flesh._ He beckons. She feels something building up inside of her, some horrific physical manifestation of anticipation like being at the top of a roller coaster. She knows the fall is coming but that doesn’t quell it at all. It presses against her chest and comes out her lips in the form of his name repeated like a mantra. _Adam…. Adam…_ and her hips roll against him in rhythm and he’s trying to hold her down with a hand on her hip and there will be a bruise in the morning but she will wear it like a badge of pride. The thought of being marked by him almost sends her over the edge. He feels her rising and cresting and just before she breaks he pulls himself away and leaves her shaking.

“ _Not yet_ ,” he whispers against her ear. Black fingers find her mouth and she looks him dead in the eye as she takes them, cleans herself off of them, tastes herself and a cool metallic tang. In an instant she finds herself on her knees in front of him. He’s huge, because of course he is, and she finds herself slightly intimidated come to face with the entirety of it. But she knows she can take it, she knows she will - to please him, anything. She takes her time, there, her hands finding their way up to his hips. His legs are prosthetic, too, from just above the knee down. The same solid shadow as his arms. She adorns the area with kisses, not teasing - _worshiping_. When she finally takes him in her mouth, a deep shuddering groan slides it’s way up his spine and through his lips. He looks down and watches his cock disappear into her lips. Her eyes are closed and she moans - he feels the sound vibrate around him. His hand grips her chin.

“Eyes up,” he growls. “Look at me.”

Arousal spikes so hard inside her that it makes the room sway. She does as she’s told. Her eyes turn up to meet his and they are conveying a message loud and clear. Hotel carpet digs into the skin of her knees as she sucks him hungrily. She is a supplicant, he is holy. In this moment, she exists only to serve him. To please him. To be hurt by him would be a blessing. His hands find fistfuls of her hair, and he takes control. She adores him beyond rationality - isn’t that how people feel about their gods? But gods keep themselves distant. He’s better. He is here, in her mouth, against her hands. She feels chosen. Nobody could ever be so lucky. He fills her universe, all that exists in all of creation is him and the taste of him and the smell of him and his solid weight against her and the sounds he’s making. To bring a man like him to make sounds like that… she pushes herself so much further than she knows she should. She isn’t getting enough air and she’s lightheaded but none of that matters when she’s pleasing him. Finally, when blackness starts to press at the edges of her vision, she pulls away. She’s panting, gasping for breath, her tongue lolling out of her mouth ever-so-slightly, a thick band of saliva dripping down her chin. Her cheeks are flushed. She hasn’t broken eye contact with him once. She doesn’t wear much makeup, but her eyes are ringed in black, mascara and eyeliner melting from sweat and tears and rain in an obscene testament to her devotion. He pulls her up and kisses her hard, deep - a reward for good work.

At the force of his hands she is back on the bed. She finds herself on her stomach, prone. She thinks about trying not to consciously present herself to him - but then she does it anyway. She is wanton. Her back arches and her ass spreads - she looks over her shoulder and kicks her feet slightly, playfully. He likes that. She feels his weight above her as he sinks into the bed with one hand at her side. He kisses his way up, tasting her skin from the small of her back to between her shoulder blades to the nape of her neck to nibble on her earlobe to come home to her lips at last. His fingers come between her legs first, then the head of him, hot and hard. He teases himself against her, but doesn’t go all the way. When hypersensitive nerves slide against hypersensitive nerves they both hum with pleasure. He buries his face in her hair, she feels his breath against her skin. Slowly, deliberately, he enters her.

The air is sucked out of the room as she feels his fullness stretching her. She gasps and arches her back, subconsciously trying to open herself, help him go deeper. When he’s buried to the hilt, she feels tears biting at the corners of her eyes, a laugh and a sigh building up in her chest like she is moved to fantastic emotion by some astonishing, divine revelation. He rolls his hips, and any delusions about feeling anything other than the sensation of his cock inside of her are driven quite forcefully from her mind. She looks back at him. His eyes are dark, heavy with lust, luminescent ringed irises glowing from the shadow. She has wanted this for _so long._

He is slow at first. Like he’s trying to find his footing, or enjoy himself. It is agonizing. With each slow, deliberate stroke, electricity fires from her gut to her toes and fingertips. She whines, tries to encourage him to go faster. Desperation is building unbearably inside of her. This is good but it isn’t enough - she needs him to fuck her hard and fast. She needs the wild hungry friction. How can he do this? Why… _ah_ … why is he torturing her? Somehow, she can’t bring herself to care too much. There is no sweeter torture. The rest of the world fades away. There is only him. She can feel cold metal and warm flesh - she feels where one ends and the other begins.

When he finally loses his restraint and decides to go faster, she is not prepared for it. Her breath hitches and comes out a throaty moan. He drives himself relentlessly in to her, so hard it’s honestly shocking. She can’t be quiet, she won’t - they both know that. He clamps a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widen, delirious, driven mad. All she can think about that hand and how it can crush bones and how inches away is a 12-inch nanoceramic blade that can slice through flesh like butter. She feels the first ghost of her orgasm, then, snaking through her core, tingling down her thighs and up her ribs. He growls in her ear. She won’t last much longer.

He feels so unusually present in himself. For the first time in six months he doesn’t feel like an outsider in his own body. He doesn’t forget, no, he doesn’t go back to a time when over half his body _wasn’t_ cybernetic prosthetic. By the sensations running through him he is acutely aware of the reality of his body and he is shockingly okay with it. The constant discomfort has ceded - all he feels now is pleasure, pleasure he couldn’t feel without this body. With each hungry, frenetic, desperate thrust he feels her purity seeping in to him, he feels some holy light growing inside. He removes his hand from her mouth so he can anchor himself, both hands pressing into the bed on either side of her hips, leverage to go deeper, harder. She buries her face into the pillows to stifle her cries - again, it’s just his name over and over in rhythm like it’s the only word she knows. That’s fine. Surely after this she’ll never need to utter any word other than his name ever again. Time ceases to have any meaning - they exist in a formless haze.

The scent of rain fills the air. He can feel her begin to tighten around him, feel the pressure building up inside of her. He stopped her before but he won’t stop her now - he can’t even stop himself. For a split second they both feel some strange sort of panic, some primal fight-or-flight instinct screaming at the back of their minds. It’s the instant before the drop - you always want to back out. You’re always scared of the inevitable looming fall even though you know you’ll love it just because at that point there’s nothing you can do to stop it. It’s when you realize you’re going to crash. This is it - if they come together, there’s no separating them ever again. Not these two, not like this, not now. They know that. Her mind is flooded with an endless stream of adulation, just _oh my god oh my god oh my god_ on and on. He is breaking, he is coming undone, ripped apart at the seams. Muscles and machinery shiver and contract. He hasn’t come in over a year. He feels like he might pass out. Close to her ear he moans - the sound is desperate, vulnerable, a starved whimper. It pushes her over the edge, and she falls.

They come together, cresting and breaking, tension wound so tight releasing in wave after wave of excruciating euphoria. She grasps at the bedsheets, balling up fistfuls of crisp white hotel linen, and she feels his fingers do the same at the widest curve of her hip. Her flesh is soft and yielding under his mechanical fingers. There will surely be a bruise, and the pain only makes her come harder. She is pulsing around him and he is throbbing inside of her and she has never felt any more divine sort of satisfaction than she feels knowing he is emptying himself in to her. She pushes herself against him. She wants it all. His ears pop and he sees stars behind his eyelids. He feels release of the highest form. Physical, mental, emotional, spiritual. It all comes out, burning ferociously through his bloodstream to the edge of every frayed nerve, screaming bright white light. He feels reborn. The weight he carries is eased, for just this moment.

Gasping for breath, covered in sweat, dumbfounded and awestruck - he finds grace.

 

* * *

 

For a long while, afterwards, they lay together in quiet closeness, the lights and ambient noise of Hengsha ever-enduring outside the window. She settled comfortably under his arm, resting her head against his shoulder and draping her arm languidly across his chest, their legs entangled together among hotel sheets. Neither of them feel any sort of arbitrary need to fill the silence, and neither would be able to even begin to grasp what sort of words to cobble together even if they did. Words seemed cheap, rude, indecent in this reverent moment. He wrapped his arms around her, he pushed her hair out of her face (poor girl. It was sweaty, sex-tangled, an absolute mess.) She looked up at him and she was shining, beaming, glowing. It couldn’t be more clear exactly how much she adored him. This time when he kissed her, it was gentle, tender - hunger sated, now to soothe. He’d still had some nagging thoughts - maybe she’d had a temporary lapse in judgement. Maybe she was just really drunk, or really wanted to get laid. Maybe she was trying to be polite. There are a thousand reasons why she might possibly quell her disgust during the act and then leave hastily afterwards and scrub herself clean in the shower and never look him in the eye again. But she was _still here_. Still in his arms, still gliding her fingers featherlight along the surface of his skin and his not-skin, still looking at him with the strangest sort of rapture.

She propped herself up on her elbow and reached for his hand. He let her take it, and she laced their fingers together. With focused care and dedication, she examined the hand she held. The body of it was the same shining black carbon polymer that the rest of his augs were, with brushed gunmetal accents. There were four long bars spanning the top of his hand, clearly intended to mimic natural bone structure in design and function. The first knuckle was a wedge, about an inch long, each built atop an internal hinge. The second two were rounded mechanical joints, leading up to finely sculpted fingertips. She turned his hand over in hers and traced her finger along his palm. The sensory weave was laid in a way to call to mind the lines and mounts of flesh. He watched her eyes closely, trying to read her expression, searching for any hint of fear or disapproval. But her expression was open and innocent and full of wonder, like a child discovering the world. He tried to imagine what he looked like through her eyes. When she lifted his palm to her lips and placed a delicate kiss there, and again at his knuckles and the inside of his wrist, he finally felt compelled to speak.

“You actually like it, don’t you?”

She looked up at him sheepishly.

“I like _you_. Your arms could be made of styrofoam and I would like them because they’d be attached to you.” A beat, and she yielded. “But since you asked… yes.” She intertwined her fingers with his, folding their hands together. “I mean, I won’t say I think you’re sexy _because of_ the augs, but I won’t say I think you’re sexy _in spite of_ them, either. Did I mention that I think you’re sexy? Because that’s _really_ the important takeaway here.”

He smiled.

“You know, I had an idea. Had a hard time believing it. Still do, kind of.”

She lay her head against his chest, looking up at him. Someone else might not believe him, or think him delusional. Adam was _objectively_ handsome, astonishingly so. Women wanted him, and men wanted to be him. It was not a matter up for debate. But he clearly didn’t see himself that way. He didn’t see himself at all, from what she gathered. She couldn’t imagine… no matter what else she’d lost, she always had her sense of self. She could look in the mirror and not be surprised, or disgusted, or frightened by what she saw. She could conceptualize, in her head, the physical reality of her body and not be faced with some uncomfortable nauseating out-of-focus nebulous thing like a cloud of toxic smoke. It didn’t matter what Adam looked like now, objectively, to other people. It mattered that he’d had one body, got shot in the head, and woken up with one completely different. He’d never been asked and he’d never had time for his insides to catch up with his outsides.

“I understand. It must be so strange. But you _are_. Sexy, I mean. We can do that a few more times if it will help you come to terms with it.”

She was smiling when he kissed her. That probably would help, he thought, and he was more than willing to try regardless. Later. Now, he couldn’t bring himself to untangle his body from hers, couldn’t fathom not having her in his arms. His bones were weighed down in a honey-scented haze of pure intimacy - enjoying another person, and being enjoyed by them. He pulled her in closer. She resumed the steady work of drawing her fingers along his arms like she was reading braille. They came to one of the small, red-orange, circular ports on his forearm.

“That’s the Typhoon,” he pointed out.

“Oh,” her voice grew wistful. “That’s what started all this, isn’t it? You know, I don’t even know what it does.”

“Explosives,” he said darkly. It wasn’t a government secret anymore - there was no reason for her not to know. “It launches explosive projectiles from each release, four on each arm, and detonates them ten seconds later.”

Her brows furrowed as she traced the circular opening. For some reason, she felt sad. He wasn’t a weapon, he shouldn’t be. She remembered Mexicantown, she remembered watching him stand down, she remembered a man with so much heart and so much guts and so much conviction that the rest of the world couldn’t handle it. What had been done to him was wrong, and he had to live with it forever. She kissed him like she was trying to make it right. She knew she couldn’t. She would try anyway, every moment of every day for as long as she was able.

“Listen…” a serious note wormed it’s way into his voice. She swallowed hard. “After what happened with Megan, I don’t know if I’m ready for-“

“ _Stop._ ” She cut him off. So many men before had started so many sentences the same way. She wouldn’t hear it from him - she couldn’t. “Adam, let’s not do that. I’m not that kind of girl. I understand. You’ve been through a lot. Let me tell you now - I am not here to add any excess stress to your life. I want to help you, not hurt you. I take things one day at a time. I’m not going to demand or expect any sort of commitment or investment from you. I won’t ask you ‘what we are’ or ‘what we’re doing.’ You say stop, we stop, no questions. But until then, I’m here for you, in whatever way you need me, and that’s it.”

He closed his eyes, inhaled, and held her tighter. _Grace._

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love writing smut but i also hate it. it's so embarrassing. i'm going to go hide in a hole and never come out now bye


	11. 10\02\27: after the rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another blog entry/chat log to take us from smut into the next bit of action. expect a new ~real~ chapter soon. again, thank you to those who read, comment, and leave kudos, from the bottom of my heart. so appreciated. <3

  
_**The Cat & The Hound ** _

_**10\02\27** _  
_**01:15:48** _  
_**after the rain** _

_This will be a personal entry._

_They say that every cell in your entire body is destroyed and replaced every 7 years._

_I feel like every cell in my entire body has been destroyed and replaced in the span of hours._

_I don’t know how else to describe it. Literally, I feel new. The world looks new. My toes and fingers feel new. My eyes must be new because everything looks different - colors are more vibrant, lights brighter, darkness deeper. When I inhale, the air is crisper and sharper. How can I be the same person I was yesterday? She’s a stranger to me. She never knew his touch. I changed beneath his hands. I changed fundamentally._

_I’m sitting on the balcony of his hotel room in Hengsha, wrapped in a bedsheet. It was raining earlier, but now it’s stopped, and the smell of it on the concrete is everywhere. I’ll never forget this smell. He’s inside, sleeping. I’m glad. I don’t think he sleeps much at all - he always seems tired. He carries around this bone-deep existential exhaustion constantly. I’m sure one good night’s sleep won’t make much of a difference, but… it can’t hurt. And there will be more. I hope there will be more._

_Yes. The wolf and I have become entangled. Romantically. Physically, emotionally, just… every possible way. And Hengsha was already so beautiful, in it’s own strange way. I have a nagging feeling that this is the beginning of a very important time for me. Like I’ll always be looking back. I feel so overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all. I know it won’t last forever. Just, please… let me remember it forever._

_I stood down a Chinese mobster. I was scared shitless but the wolf was right by my side and I didn’t even hesitate. I’m sure I looked ridiculous, but I’d never felt braver or more capable._

_Then… I met the man who killed my mother. The assassin. He’s a fortune teller now - I feel like there’s some irony there. And I feel like, now, I know my destiny._

_Being with him only drives me harder. He gives me the means. These things are in my reach now. And I have a lot of work to do. The fortune teller told me many things._

_I get closer every day. To the truth, and proof of it. It’s all I could ever ask for._

_Next up is infiltration. A cat, a wolf, and a snake slip into the dragon’s lair. There’s gotta be a fable about this somewhere, huh?_

_My next entry will be bigger. For you guys, at least. Nothing will ever be bigger than this, for me._

_Let the record show, here and now and forever preserved in cyberspace, that this was the day I was reborn. I’ll shout it into the void even if nobody hears me because it’s not being heard that’s important it’s the saying the words, forming them with my lips and throwing them from my lungs as far and as hard as I can because it’s real. It’s real. Whatever it is. It’s real._

_I see the world with new eyes. My heart beats different than it did before. I am awake, and I feel everything._  


 

* * *

**blackc4t:** frank, you up?  
**nucl3arsnake:** its 3am in detroit.  
**nucl3arsnake:** but yes i’m up  
**blackc4t:** sorry to bother you, we can talk later if you want. but you might actually want to hear this  
**nucl3arsnake:** it’s fine, charlie. what is it  
**blackc4t:** ok so we found the assassin  
**blackc4t:** and he told me about this thing  
**blackc4t:** called the ‘killing floor’  
**blackc4t:** it’s how he got his orders. and how the mercs who attacked sarif got their orders too  
**blackc4t:** it’s a private server. highly secured and encrypted to hell and back. inaccessible without access to a physical entry point, and a unique passcode.  
**nucl3arsnake:** inaccessible but you want me to try anyway, right?  
**blackc4t:** actually, i know where an access point is, and i have a passcode  
**nucl3arsnake:** …you’re joking.  
**blackc4t:** nope. dead serious  
**nucl3arsnake:** oh, someone coming to me with something i can actually work with. this is a change of pace.  
**blackc4t:** the access point is… volatile. dangerous. we can’t stay there long  
**blackc4t:** so i want to scrub the data. run a keyword search and funnel the results to a secure server someplace else. so i can really take my time looking through them later  
**blackc4t:** the data will be encoded, too, and that’s not my strong point. if i jack you in at the access point… can you help?  
**nucl3arsnake:** just to be clear, this is a highly-encrypted, top secret delivery system for kill orders for Triad assassins and black-ops paramilitary merc groups? you realize what will happen if we leave ANY trace?  
**blackc4t:** but you won’t, frank. cause you’re the best. there’s only one person in the world who can pull this off.  
**nucl3arsnake** : flattery is appreciated, but unnecessary. you know i’m going to do it.  
**blackc4t:** FRANK UR THE BEST !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
**blackc4t:** let me take you out when we get back home  
**blackc4t:** you like pizza? i know the BEST place in midtown. pizza AND an arcade. and beer!  
**nucl3arsnake:** do i like pizza? come on.  
**blackc4t:** :)  
**blackc4t:** now go to bed, frank. jesus, it’s 3am and you have to work tomorrow. i’ll give adam your love ~  
**nucl3arsnake:** oh, good. i miss him so.  
**nucl3arsnake:** goodbye. be safe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> join me on [ tumblr ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com/)


	12. The Incisor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Charlie infiltrate Tai Yong Medical tower to find Van Bruggen's evidence and access the killing floor. A shocking revelation unseats the both of them, and changes the course of their investigation as well as their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there! a thousand million thanks again to those who have read, left kudos, and commented so far. especially those of you who have interacted with me on tumblr and sent me nice messages about my writing and Charlie. It means so, so, so, so, so incredibly very much to me and I super appreciate it. 
> 
> this chapter was particularly fun to write. Adam's conversation with Zhao Yun Ru in her office has always been one of my favorite moments in the entire game because I think it reveals so much about him. It shows how strong his instinct to protect is, and how when asked for help he has a tendency to default to trying to see the good in whoever it is that is asking him for help, whoever they are, and that actually he can be pretty trusting (up until that moment, at least.) I think at times Adam really does think of himself as a knight in shining armor to the point of it almost being a hindrance or a character flaw. He was blindsided by Zhao's damsel act and that's what let her trip the panic room alarm. As soon as I began conceptualizing Charlie and this story in my head, I knew this moment would be different with her at Adam's side, and it was really fun to see it play out. I'm really excited for the way her presence will similarly alter canon events in the future - it's one of the coolest things about inserting an OC into canon. Particularly in Adam's case.... canonically he is alone through all of this, so the introduction of even one more person changes the dynamic of things drastically, especially when romance is involved. 
> 
> Anyway, enough of my babbling! On to the actual content ~

 

In his left hand, Adam Jensen held a Tai Yong Medical employee ID card.

It had been thoughtfully lifted from a client by their new friends at the Hung Hua, and graciously encoded by the hacker Arie Van Bruggen. The most he could spoof was a level 5 security clearance - out of 20. Standard clearance for a TYM lower factory worker - the drones who stamped polymer plates, assembled circuitboards and casings, drove forklifts and worked the machines that applied thermoplastic coatings and bodysafe paints in microthin layers to cybernetic prosthetics. The ID card would get them on the employee shuttle, but that was about it. It would open most doors in the lower factory, but even then, they still had to deal with the human element of security. Charlie had forged a Picus press pass and wore it on a lanyard around her neck, and Adam didn’t look horribly out of place. It was becoming increasingly normal that corporations would hire heavily augmented workers for manual labor - in fact, it was the first battle ground for elective augmentation. For someone who wasn’t augmented, it was hard to get a job in construction or shipping when half the applicant pool essentially had superhuman strength. Ever since Antoine Thistle sued for the right to amputate his own arms and replace them with cybernetics in 2022, it had become common practice. Adam could have been one such laborer, or a private security detail, or Charlie’s bodyguard. They were unlikely to be stopped or questioned by any low-ranking TYM employee - at least not until they ascended through the Pangu, into the restricted upper levels of the tower. Then they had to somehow get into the CEO’s office. Charlie should have been scared. Or at least a little bit nervous. But she looked at Adam and her chest swelled and she couldn’t bring herself to be concerned at all.

They boarded the employee shuttle in comfortable silence. The _instant_ Adam laid his hands on her, a seed of worry had sprouted in Charlie. Worry that things would be strange or awkward between them now. Worry that sex would complicate the incredible flow and dynamic of their working relationship. They got stuff _done_ , efficiently and gracefully and with an enjoyable sort of ease, and sex always seemed to have a way of absolutely destroying things like that. Not that they could have stopped themselves, anyway - things between them had veered off the strictly professional path long ago, but… they’d spent a good six hours in that hotel room getting to know each other, inside and out. It could be hard, sometimes, to look someone in the eye when they’d touched every inch of your skin and seen your heart just as naked. In intimacy, in wide-open bareness, there was limitless potential for fear and shame. But Adam and Charlie moved together even better the closer they got. Due to the uniquely personal nature of the journey they found themselves on, each worked harder the more they grew to care about the other. What obstacles Adam couldn’t infiltrate, eliminate, or negotiate Charlie could hack, investigate, or deceive. Together, they felt unstoppable. As a trained combat operative, ex-SWAT, and security professional, Adam knew that feeling unstoppable was generally a bad thing. If you felt unstoppable, you were overconfident, and you were more likely to trip up. There was no room for mistakes here. But as a man who was falling for the woman he worked with, Adam searched and could hardly find a shred of doubt as to his own competence with Charlie at his side. For the first time his new body felt like a help and not a hindrance. He felt the raw power coursing through his nervous system and he finally saw the good it could be used for. This was all unprecedented. He let himself enjoy the feeling. He was ready to take on TYM Tower. He was ready to scale the city. As the employee shuttle sped through the subway tunnels of Hengsha at over 200mph, he watched her with a quiet sort of satisfaction. Her hands were wrapped around one of the metal support rods for standing passengers, and from behind her glasses she was watching seams in the concrete walls zoom by outside the window. She always seemed to be looking out the window, even when she was underground. When she sensed she was being watched, she met his gaze with a warm smile. Not shy - the time for shyness was gone. He had tasted her. It was almost gracious, like she was accepting an award. Was it strange, that she felt that way every time Adam looked at her? Like she was being bestowed some great honor?

They traveled through much of the lower level factory without encountering anything of note, until they neared the end of the maintenance area of the Pangu section. As they passed down the corridor, an employee in a damaged hazmat suit pressed himself fervently against the thick tempered glass window of a containment room, pounding desperately with his fists. Technology like this almost always left behind a toxic byproduct - volatile gasses were pumped down through the Pangu and filtered through here, an advanced ventilation and decontamination system. But it wasn’t flawless - nothing was - and accidents happened, frequently. Tai Yong Medical surely had excellent corporate insurance to make the on-the-job deaths easy to sweep away. A valve was broken in this decontamination room, and it was being flooded with astonishing levels of poison. If Charlie and Adam hadn’t been walking by right then, messing around where they shouldn’t have been, this man would struggle fruitlessly and die quietly and it would be many hours before his body was found. That would never come to pass. He would live, now.

Charlie hacked the electronic keypad easily, and Adam pushed through the door. His momentum sent out a cloud of toxic gas - Charlie staggered back and pulled the collar of her jacket up to cover her nose and mouth, a choking cough wracking through her ribs. Adam’s implanted rebreather ensured that he was not affected by the gas, and he quickly darted through to the valve. She watched his fingers crush the steel valve wheel as he turned it. With a low hum, the fans activated and the room was cleared. The pair of them rushed over to the TYM employee, who slumped against the wall and yanked off the head of his hazmat suit, gasping for breath.

“Are you okay?” Charlie rushed to the man's side. His face was smudged with dirt and sweat, his eyes wild with fright.

"Thanks to you, yes. You saved my life - how can I ever repay you?"

"Directions." Adam stepped forward. "We need to get through to the upper tower - undetected. And we only have level 5 clearance. Any information you can give us will help."

The employee looked up at his saviors for a moment, his internal struggle clearly visible. They had just plainly admitted to seeking access to restricted areas - if he were a good employee, he would report them to security immediately. But at this precise moment, he was feeling quite a bit more loyalty to the strange intruders who saved him than he was to the faceless corporation that put him in danger in the first place.

"There's an elevator, past the cryo sterilization room. It's a restricted area, but the guard on duty, Kim, owes me a personal favor. Just tell him Lee sent you, and he'll let you through."

They thanked the man, and left. Up a round of staircases and through a dark, narrow hallway lined floor to ceiling with dark metal grates, their footsteps echoing swift and sharp, determined.

Kim waved them through the sliding glass doors of the cyro sterilization room with a glare and a warning to evade security cameras and other guards on duty. Scientists worked, in crisp white lab coats, too absorbed in their work to even notice the strange guests. It reminded Adam of Megan, and for a moment he faltered against the lump rising in his throat. Charlie saw. Charlie knew. She reached for him, her fingers brushing against his slightly, and he refocused.

To get to the elevator, they had to scale a catwalk of hollow metal scaffolding that ran above the sterilization chamber. A series of ladders led them up to the catwalk, and they moved quietly along narrow walkways. There were automated cameras panning back and forth across the ceiling - they had to time their movements carefully.

It was then, for the first time, that the both of them realized that sex had actually _improved_ their working relationship. It was good before - but now it was better. It seemed now they had an innate understanding of each other's bodies. They'd moved together, they'd _come_ together, and that had a lasting effect. Each remembered, by touch and feeling, the precise measures and weight of the other. Charlie knew now that Adam was stronger than he realized and sometimes that manifested itself in a clumsy overexertion, an action that went further than he'd anticipated and a split-second of surprise and hesitation as he adjusted - just like he knew now that she led with her left side (to compensate for the weight of her field bag) and consciously avoided locking her knees, keeping her legs loose in a soft bend like a dancer ready to react to any force or spring in any direction. She may not have had any formal combat or stealth training but she had a natural tendency towards it. She'd likely picked up a great deal of that from her time already spent working with Adam, letting his mannerisms intuitively seep in to her. Besides that it seemed like they could communicate wordlessly now - and not the closed-mouth throat-focused subvocalization that most operatives used through their infolink augs. Even with Adam's lenses, a look was enough. She could tell by the set of his shoulders and the tension in his hands whether a look meant _stop_ or _wait_ or _go_ or _be careful_. They acted as one unit. They were seamless. As in bed, so in the field. It was delightful.

The elevator took them to the storage section that made up the bulk of the middle Pangu. A vast expanse of shipping crates and shelving units and temperature-regulated rooms with thick glass doors. Charlie pulled up the building's floorplan on her commlink. There was a maintenance tunnel in the northeast corner of this storage section - it was designed for workers to move quickly up and down through the Pangu. It would take them to the upper tower.

The borders of the storage section were open-air, no walls but fine chainlink mesh stretched across metal bars. As they skirted the room, Charlie felt cool night air lapping at her shoulders. She turned to look out the fence at her side, and gasped.

They were in the Pangu, and the expanse of lower Hengsha stretched out before them. From this far up. the skyline went on for miles. Nausea rose in her throat - she wasn't typically scared of heights, but this would have made anyone swoon. It was dizzying, equal parts beautiful and terrifying. She laced her fingers through the chain mesh and pressed her face against it. stopping for a moment. From behind, she heard the faint click of Adam retracting his lenses.

One hand was on her hip, the other brushing her hair aside to bare the skin at the curve of her neck. He pulled her close and spoke low against her.

“Never seen a skyline like this, have you?"

He felt like a fiend. Before that night, in that hotel room, he hadn't been touched for _so long_... now that he knew what it felt like, now that he'd experienced the yield of her flesh against the hard of his hands... he _craved_ it. He ached for it. _Constantly_. It almost made it hard for him to focus and that was an oddity in and of itself. Yes, they were in the middle of infiltrating a restricted area of the biggest powerhouse corporation in China and his employer's biggest competitor. It wasn't the time or the place but if he could just touch her now... just for one minute... he could focus again at least until the mission was done. He buried his face against her neck, he inhaled sharply, he brushed his lips against the skin there, felt her shiver and melt against him. When she spoke, he could hear the smile in her voice.

"No, nothing even close. It's incredible."

He turned her to face him and kissed her hard. Her back pressed against the chainlink - she felt it strain and bend at her weight. It was all that separated her from a several hundred foot drop into the cold, industrial jaws of lower Hengsha. She couldn't bring herself to be frightened with Adam's lips upon her hot and hungry. It was the same every time - all-consuming, the rest of the world muted to insignificance. He pulled away begrudgingly, only for breath.

"Come on, Adam. Let's go."

He protested with an incoherent discontented mumble, brushing the textured black pad of his thumb against her cheekbone, but let her lead him away.

Entering the upper levels was like entering a whole new world. Below was dark, dingy, utilitarian. Above was shiny and bright and clearly designed to showcase TYM's corporate prowess. Here was where the bulk of the company's scientists worked, where every day remarkable strides were made in biomechanics. Here was where clients were entertained, important meetings and negotiations held, investments secured and funds raised. Everything was white, pale green, or bamboo, and artificial sunlight illuminated upper Hengsha outside. It was a utopia - sleek, modern glass structures nestled delicately amongst an array of greenery. Nature was a luxury, reserved only for the rich. Charlie didn't give it a second glance - upper Hengsha didn't capture her like lower Hengsha did.

Not all off the upper levels were restricted, but they made themselves scarce regardless. The server room they needed to access first was through the floor's largest lab, the Lee Geng Memorial Laboratory. There was no way they could sneak through the whole lab undetected - they would have to gain access. Charlie ducked into a corner and used her commlink to crack in to the security patrol radio chatter. She'd done a little bit of homework, and knew the names of several high-ranking female TYM executives. Adam watched as she raised the timbre of her voice and spoke into the commlink's mic, smooth and confident.

_"Paging all units, paging all units. This is Ms. Xiaofan, VP of accounts. We have a pair of very distinguished guests in the building - two Americans, a woman from Picus and her augmented bodyguard. They are personal guests of mine, here on very important business. Until I am able to greet them myself, please ensure they have access to Lee Geng. Confirm."_

A second of silence, and responses crackled through.

_"Red squad, copy."_

_"Green squad reads you loud and clear."_

_"Black squad confirming orders."_  
  
_"Blue squad, check. Have a good afternoon, Ms. Xiaofan."_

Adam was grinning. It wasn't perfect, but it was inventive, and it would get them through the lab and buy them some time at least.

"Nice work. Let's go."

He led the way, and so he couldn't see her beaming with pride behind his back.

They passed through the lab with no trouble, and on the other side they began to see wallsigns for the Data Core Room. They followed the arrows, tense and quiet. At any moment their cover could be blown and the real Xiaofan could raise the alarm. They just had to get through the data core. From there to Zhao's office, they would climb through the vents in the walls sight unseen.

It would have been too bold to spoof access to the data core room, too. Temperance was key when it came to the social aspects of an infiltration. There was one guard standing in front of the main door, and two more guards plus a laser grid patrolling the adjacent hallway off which there was a security console room and a backdoor into the data core. It was unlikely they could get rid of the guard at the front door, so the hallway was their way in.

They formed a plan without speaking. She watched Adam's body language change as he took on an open and friendly stance and strolled up to the guard closest to the laser grid's control panel. Within seconds they were chatting like old friends about the FN FS2000 combat rifle the guard carried and how much better it was than any other in it's class. He might have used his CASIE aug, Charlie couldn't tell, but he likely didn't need to. Men in this profession loved nothing more than to talk guns. While the guard was distracted, Charlie hacked the control panel for the laser grid and disarmed it. She slipped through into the security console room and switched off all nearby security cameras. The computer told her there was a 80-X Boxguard bot patrolling the data core room. She'd never seen one with her own eyes, and did not relish the thought of evading or destroying it. With a click, she deactivated the bot. Adam entered the room behind her, and they nodded at each other silently before proceeding into the data core room.

There were no guards inside. They weren't necessary. Charlie inhaled sharply through her teeth as the expanse of the room rose below them. It was big, and latticed with a complicated system of scanning lasers. They moved horizontally and vertically across different planes from floor to ceiling. The room was a grid of blinking red lines, and if a single laser was tripped, an alarm would sound.

"Shit," Charlie muttered. "There were no controls for this on the security hub, not even a mention, I would have-"

"It's okay." Adam cut her off as he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. _He's going to go through it,_ she realized with a jolt. "Controls have got to be on the other side. I'll shut it off once I get through and you can follow."

For a moment, she looked like she might protest, glaring at him with a fiery sort of intensity.

"Be careful. When we get out of here... I need you alive and in one piece for the things I'm going to do to you."

Her meaning was clear, and effective. Not that he needed motivation to not die, but... it certainly was helpful.

"Copy that." With a little grin, he ducked down the short staircase and in to the grid.

As she watched him move through the lasers she reminisced on the first time she ever saw him. Through a security camera feed at Milwaukee Junction. She thought he was made of shadow, the way he moved like a shade and slipped through the darkness. They’d come so far, since then, and it was nothing compared to the way he moved now. He watched, carefully, memorized the laser’s paths before moving so quickly and with such confidence. It was beyond grace. It was amazing - _he_ was amazing.

He disappeared around the corner and shortly the lasers blinked off. She ran to meet him with a tiny little enthralled smile. She wanted to tell him that was _fucking_ awesome, but it didn’t seem professional. She kept her cool and they proceeded onwards to the center of the data core.

An elevator took them up to the main sever room. It was dimly lit, the walls lined with thinscreens, scrolling with data and bathing them in a soft honey-amber glow. Adam stepped forward to the security console and Charlie busied herself with her commlink off to the side. Van Bruggen had given them a passcode, direct access to the exact file they needed. As Adam punched in the code, his fingertips tapping lightly against the microthin LED, Charlie patched Pritchard and Sarif in through a secure channel.

“Boys, you there?” she greeted them. “We’re pulling up Van Bruggen’s evidence right now.”

_“You let Adam work the keys, Charlie? Careful, he’s liable to break something.”_

_“Be quiet, Frank.”_ David Sarif’s unmistakeable voice rang out of the speaker, loud and clear and stern as always. _“Adam, we’re listening.”_

With a final click, Adam stepped back and the data scrolling on the largest thinscreen was cut off and replaced with a video feed. She and Adam watched it intently, the light changing against their faces, bathing them first in orange then blue then a soft plush red.

On the screen was a beautiful Chinese woman wearing a high-collared white dress, onyx-black hair piled up in an intricate updo. She was severe in her beauty, all sharp upward angles. Suddenly, a hologram flickered into life in front of her. It was the man with his muscles outside his skin. Adam felt the phantom of a bullet lodged in his skull, a flash of white-hot pain and panic firing through his cells. Charlie looked at him, ready to move, ready to be at his side in an instant, but he grit his teeth and shook his head. She stayed where she was, and Zhao Yun Ru began to speak to the hologram.

_I just heard that your team is mobilizing in Detroit. Why wasn’t I informed of this sooner?_

She was angry, but the hologram in front of her remained calm. He held his ground.

_Tactical assignments are not your concern._

The woman stalked in a circle, expensive stilettos clicking against the marble floor.

_Reed and her team have sub-dermal G-P-L implants. They’ll be tracked! Kidnapping them was a mistake!_

Neither of them had a particularly easy time listening to what came next. All Adam could hear was blood rushing in his ears, and Charlie felt like she couldn’t breathe, like something very sharp and mean had punctured her lung.

_Montreal took care of that._

_Forgive me if I don’t put as much faith in our friend Eliza as you do. She’s too… erratic._

_Your concerns are noted. But I would advise you to concentrate on your own assignments, instead of interfering with mine. Namir out._

It was the first time Adam heard the man’s name. It tasted hot and metallic. _Namir._

Adam replayed the video. He had to be sure. They listened in silence - it wasn’t any easier the second time. Finished, the video cut out, and the room was filled with dark and silence.

Charlie was the first one to speak.

“Megan and her team weren’t killed. They were kidnapped. They’re…. they’re alive.”

Adam’s words came raspier than usual, like he was struggling to speak.

“Did you hear that, David?”

_“Adam, I -"_

“Come on.” He turned to Charlie, speaking brusquely. She had already copied the video to a datastick. A horrible sort of urgency bled from Adam’s body language in to her. He was furious, anger boiling hard and fast just beneath his surface, spurning him on with a quiet, tense haste. They left the server room and made their way around the corner where an air vent would take them up. Charlie spoke into her commlink.

“Frank, we’re headed up to Zhao’s office right now. Shouldn’t take longer than five minutes. Standby for proxy access.”

_“I’m ready.”_

As she and Adam climbed ladders and grates through the ventilation system, something hit her.

“Wait. Eliza… Montreal… you don’t think they were talking about Picus, do you?”

“I can’t imagine what else they would have been talking about.”

Suddenly her palms were sweaty, and they slipped on the ladder rung above her head.

“Why would Picus be involved with this? Even if they were in TYM’s pocket, to be accomplices in a kidnapping…” she swallowed. It was beyond the pale. It sat in the pit of her stomach, a hard cold knot. It was so wrong. It went against all her most fundamental ideals and beliefs. She had no delusions about the press being impartial, but this was something different entirely. If it was true… if she could break a story like this about Picus, the largest international news conglomerate… the world might actually change. She tried to temper her emotions, on several different levels.

“You can ask Zhao yourself.”

They emerged into the atrium of Zhao’s penthouse. Naturally, a woman like her, CEO of such a massive and successful corporation… the penthouse was an ostentatious display of wealth, luxury but an absence of class. The floors, walls, and ceilings were white marble, massive Grecian columns projecting a megalomaniacal sort of grandeur. The other most present color was red, crimson vermillion carpets and chaise lounges. An auspicious color. Luck, and fortune. It seemed to mock them, now.

The atrium was dotted with marble statues, busts on square pedestals. Two armed guards patrolled the area, and Adam did not currently possess the patience to sneak around them. He waited, crouched behind one of the pedestals, and when the first guard walked by he yanked him down and slammed his head against the marble floor. When the second came to investigate, Adam pulled the man into a chokehold, mechanical muscles straining, a hand covering the guard’s nose and mouth so he couldn’t breathe or scream. The guard strained and kicked his legs for a while, but it wasn’t long before his body went limp, unconscious. Both of the men would wake up in a while with splitting headaches, but they would live. He was merciful when he could spare it, even in the heat of rage. A flash of melancholy rushed through Charlie, brief but sharp. She had a premonition that such a thing would become increasingly common.

They proceeded up a white marble staircase. A red velvet carpet ran down the center of it. Zhao was egotistical, that much was wildly apparent just by her office. They encountered no further security personnel. The silence was ominous, and unease settled over Charlie’s bones. It was likely their arrival was anticipated, and something worse than armed guards awaited them inside Zhao’s office.

At the top of the stairs was a massive room shuttered behind sliding glass panels. The glass was embossed with an etched wave pattern, and a cool blue light emanated from within. Manufactured serenity, like an expensive spa. Adam slid the glass panels aside. Charlie reached for the small tranquilizer gun beneath her shoulder, and she heard a click as Adam primed the 12-inch blade in his left arm. Together, they entered the darkened office.

Behind a heavy marble desk, an ornate high-backed chair was silhouetted against the soft light of a line of dormant thinscreens. It was turned to face away, of course. The air seemed very still and very quiet as they approached the desk. Charlie raised her gun. Her hands were shaking. The chair turned, and Zhao Yun Ru unfolded like a blossoming chrysanthemum before their eyes.

She was even more severe - and more beautiful - in person. An austere form draped in the finest silk brocade, her head nestled like a jewel in an accordion collar made of crisp white taffeta. Her cheekbones and eyes followed the same angle, gracefully up, milk-white skin stretched taut over elegant bones. She wore lipstick so red it felt violent, like her mouth was dripping with blood. She smiled at her guests and trailed gloved fingers across the surface of her desk before rising and walking to green them.

“I must admit, the pair of you are quite impressive. You made it all the way up to my office without raising an alarm. Sarif is lucky to have you - but I’d wager I could pay you more.”

Her voice was like a crystal dagger, sharp and dulcet, as beautiful as it was dangerous. Adam’s lips curled into a snarl.

“Yeah, you must be pretty fucking well-off if you can afford to hire teams of mercenaries and hackers to kidnap our scientists and steal our government contracts. _Where is Megan Reed?_ ”

Charlie had never heard Adam so angry. It shook her to her core. Zhao was unruffled. She was strolling slowly, casually in a wide arc around them.

“I know how it must appear, but I assure you, what happened to your scientists was not an act of corporate greed.”

“That’s not what he asked,” Charlie spat, glaring down her aim as she followed Zhao’s path with her gun. “Reed and her team - _where are they_?”

Zhao’s gaze caught on Charlie, a lazy, deadly sort of curiosity like a lioness deciding whether it was worth it to leave sun-warmed grasses and pursue the gazelle. Maybe it was a mistake, drawing her attention. It was too late to go back now.

“How sweet,” Zhao smirked. “Little Charlotte Winters, leeching onto Sarif Industries for the ride of her life. Do you realize how _truly_ insignificant you are, girl? Your ‘cutting edge’ journalism doesn’t even make a splash in Detroit, much less on a global scale. Nobody is interested in what you have to say, regardless of how true it is… or isn’t. You have less than no power. You are screaming into the void and _nobody wants to listen_.”

Charlie dug in to her stance, staggering her feet and raising her gun a little higher, shoulders drawn up to her ears. She felt the wind knocked out of her, and had to fight consciously not to give Zhao the reaction she so desperately wanted. She heard the sound of the blade in Adam’s arm being loosed from it’s casing. He took a step towards Zhao, blade raised.

“Don’t listen to her, Charlie.”

“Oh, I’m not. You are _really_ good at deflecting, you know that, Zhao? Answer the question. We won’t be asking much longer.”

Zhao turned to Adam, and her expression softened. A neural aug, Tai Yong’s own version of the CASIE, displayed Adam’s psychological profile in the corner of her retinal HUD. This would work.

“I wish I could tell you where Megan Reed is. I know how… _special_ she was to you, Adam.” Her voice lilted, saccharine. “You have to believe, I am just a cog in this machine. I’m a pawn, I’m just the hired help - like you.”

He shook his head, but lowered his blade. His mind told him not to let his guard down, but instinct did it anyway. He spoke suspicious, just off the edge of violence.

“You’re the head of a billion-dollar mega-corporation, Zhao.”

The fear that crept into her eyes was almost genuine. _Almost._

“Yes, and I’m still under their thumb. That should tell you how powerful they are.”

Adam was losing patience.

“‘They’? Who are ‘they’?”

Zhao moved closer to Adam, placing herself within inches of the blade in his arm as though calling his bluff. He retracted it.

“Sarif knows. Ask him. It was smart of him, implanting Megan and her team with sub-dermal GPLs, but it wasn’t enough. One call to Picus and the implants went dark.”

She was standing right in front of him now, inches from his chest, her face turned upwards, pleading hope.

“These men, they… they control global interests at a whim. I’ve already told you too much. They’ll be after me next.”

Adam seemed frozen in place as Zhao raised a hand and drew it softly along his chest and around his shoulder. Her plan might have worked, were it not for Charlie. From Zhao’s side, Adam’s companion puffed herself up like a cornered alleycat, and hissed.

“Keep your _fucking_ hands off him.”

In an instant, Adam was forgotten, and Zhao rounded on Charlie, snapping like a whip. Comparing powerful Asian women to dragons was trite, and Charlie had rolled her eyes internally the first time she’d heard Van Bruggen refer to Zhao that way. But now she understood. The woman was breathing fire.

“Ha! Of course. Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more pitiful. It all makes so much sense now.”

Zhao’s voice turned from sweet to ice-cold. She had gloved fists clenched low at her sides and she moved across the floor with a deadly sort of determination. She wasn’t walking towards Charlie - it seemed she was approaching the sliding glass panels at the entrance. Charlie narrowed her eyes and watched, bracing herself.

“Does it hurt, going to the ends of the earth to help him find the woman he really loves?” Zhao continued, spitting venom. “You realize he will _never_ care for you the way you care for him, right? How pathetic!”

She threw her head back and laughed, a shrill and caustic sound. She continued moving towards the glass panels while keeping her piercing gaze laser-locked on Charlie.

“You nip at his ankles like a puppy while he hunts his love like a bloodhound. You are as insignificant to him as you are to the rest of the world. You -“

Zhao never finished her sentence. Charlie pulled the trigger. With her hand inches away from a small touchglass panel on the wall, Zhao’s eyes fluttered shut and she fell limp to the ground, a tranquilizer dart lodged just below her ear. Charlie gasped, the sound catching in her throat and finishing weak and strangled. Wound-up tension released in a wave, and she swayed on her feet like she’d been struck by a staggering gust of wind. She lowered her gun, and pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes. For a moment, there was silence as the two absorbed what had just happened.

“A panic button. She was about to…” Charlie offered weakly as explanation.

“I know.”

He spoke gently. He, too, seemed to release something - a sigh and a pulling down of his shoulders.

“It would have set the whole building on alarm. She wasn’t telling us anything else, anyway. Good eye.”

She hardly acknowledged him as she re-holstered her gun and began digging in her field bag. Singularly focused on the task at hand because it kept Zhao’s words at bay. Not that the last desperate thrashings of a woman determined to gain the upper footing in a conversation mattered. The things Zhao said were empty, provocative with no substance, just a futile attempt to unseat the people whose mercy she knew she was at. They had no basis in truth or reality. _No basis in truth or reality._ Charlie repeated it over and over in her head like she was trying to convince herself.

“We don’t have much time.” Charlie tucked her hair behind her ear as she pulled her commlink and a datastick out of her bag. “Those darts don’t last forever.”

As she walked over to Zhao’s personal terminal, she tapped into her commlink.

“Frank, you there?”

Through the speaker, Pritchard’s voice crackled. It soothed her, brought her back to focus. She sat herself in Zhao’s desk chair. It was massive, like a throne. It dwarfed her.

_“Here and ready. What went down with Zhao?”_

She activated Zhao’s terminal and her face was bathed in blue light. Her fingers danced across the keys.

“Crazy. Manipulative. In on it, but not working alone. She kept talking about some group of men, kept saying ‘they’ did this. We had to knock her out before she tripped the building’s alarm, but she did tell us that Picus was responsible for turning the GPLs off. “

_“Picus? Why on earth…?”_

“Yeah. We’re gonna find out. Alright, I’m jacking you in to her personal terminal. The access point might be hidden.”

She plugged in the datastick and the screen leapt to life in front of her. Pritchard accessed Zhao’s terminal from across the globe by proxy. The screen was filled with windows, programs running, data scrolling. After a moment the activity stopped and centered around a single screen, black, nothing but a space for login credentials.

_“Not very well. I’m already there. What’s the passcode?”_

Charlie smiled.

“You’re one of a kind, Frank. Passcode is oracle. Run searches for Maria Winters and Sarif.”

She waited. The real exciting stuff was happening on Pritchard’s screen back in Boston - for her, the action was over. Just stillness, and silence.

_“Jesus, Charlie. This is… big. And very well encoded. This might take a minute.”_

“It’s okay. We have a few.”

Adam stood on the other side of the desk and kept his eyes on her as he patched to Faridah on his infolink.

“Malik. Get ready to bring the bird around. TYM Tower penthouse.”

_“Copy that. Your chariot is on the way.”_

Zhao lay unmoving at the door. Pritchard was running searches on the killing floor’s data and downloading it through a series of untraceable proxies. Faridah was bringing the VTOL around. For a brief moment, in the midst of the whirlwind, they had nothing to do but wait. Action kept them from having to sit and process what they were going through. Now they had no choice, forced to sit with it. Adam crossed to her side of the desk and leaned against the windowsill behind her, scrubbing his hands across his face. Charlie swiveled the chair around to face him, her hands clasped between her knees. Not thirty minutes ago he had his hands and lips on her with a gnawing hunger. That was a different life, a different world. Everything was different now. Now… she felt a rift. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but something stopped her.

“Are you alright?” she asked, softly, after a moment of silence.

He retracted his lenses, and looked at her. He gave no indication of yes or no. His eyes were hollow, far away, and he had the look of someone numb with shock. When he spoke, his voice was weaker than usual - more air, less force.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

“No.”

“Okay.”

She spoke gently, careful to let no negative inflection creep into her voice, and began to turn the chair back towards the terminal. Before she could, he reached out to grab her hand and pulled her back around. The way he reached for her seemed urgent, frantic, but…. once her hand was in his he did nothing. Just held it. His black fingers closed around hers like he just needed something to hold on to, something to anchor him down and keep him from falling away into the abyss. She was surprised. Her breath caught in her throat, and he spoke.

“Not… not right now. But maybe later.”

She was flooded with affection, warm empathy and devotion washing over her in an almost unbearable wave. She squeezed his hand, running her thumb across the mechanical ridge of his knuckles.

“I’ll be here, if and when.”

Outside, the rhythmic whirr of VTOL engines hummed increasingly louder as Faridah approached. Pritchard finished his download and announced it through Charlie’s commlink. It would take him a few days to decrypt the data - there would be no answers had now. She acknowledged him without taking her eyes off Adam, unplugging her datastick with her free hand. She didn’t want to let go, and she could tell Adam didn’t want her to, either. For a long breath they sat there in the quiet dark, heads bowed, holding hands. He would be ready to go in a minute. He just… he just needed this. Touch, but more than touch. His world was upended for the thousandth time, it seemed. It takes time to accept loss, to come to terms with grief, and he had just started… and the rug was suddenly, violently, yanked out from under his feet. Even if Megan was alive - and there was a part of him that wouldn’t let himself fully believe it - she could have been hurt, or tortured. Some things were worse than death - he knew. He recalled a conversation with Charlie, at an old world bar in Detroit, shoulder-to-shoulder with each other's pain and loss. He recalled talking about how death was so ultimate in it’s cruelty because even if you didn’t have the best relationship with someone when they were alive at least they were alive and you had the option of having a relationship with them. Death took even that away and so even the most fractured and painful relationships became something so precious lost. Adam was already sick in anticipation of what it would be like to look Megan in the eyes knowing she’d suffered because of his own failures. Right now, in this moment, his insides churning, he was assured of one thing at least. No matter what happened, he wouldn’t be alone. He didn’t have to face it alone. He would sit in this moment, briefly, and gather strength from the supportive presence of someone who cared about him. The fact that he was even comfortable letting himself do that was remarkable, and not lost on him.

 

* * *

 

Wu Yi Zheng tossed his coins with an odd sort of finality. He did not know why or how he knew that this would be the last time he ever tossed them, but the feeling was undeniable. He knew the cosmos had a way of communicating the numinous, and things that were not based in the earthly sphere often seemed to come to the sensitive with no warning or no context. It was a different language, one that was felt, not understood. He felt some sort of end approaching as the coins landed. He was doing a personal reading. He felt it necessary, after recent events.

As he marked the last line of the hexagram on his datapad, he heard the door open and the beaded curtain chime. Again, he knew - these were not customers. He set his stylus down, and raised his head.

Three heavily armed and armored Belltower soldiers stood in front of his flimsy folding table, looking as much like demons as men could, bathed in the red lantern light.

 _Of course_. His lips curled into a knowing smile. He knew his former employers controlled Belltower. Every contracted mercenary was a personal assassin at their disposal. And he knew why they were there. He’d expected them ever since the American girl’s visit. He lit one last cigarette.

“And the assassin is assassinated. How appropriate - to die the way I lived.”

Spirals of smoke slithered up to the ceiling and dissipated there. One of the mercs stepped forward.

“You cost Zhao Yun Ru a great deal. You compromised the killing floor. You cannot be allowed to live.”

“I know.”

He took a drag, and exhaled smoke through his nostrils. For the first time in many years, Wu Yi Zheng sat up straight and held his head high. His bones cracked as he did. He was weary. These men were amateurs, he could tell. You never gave a target time to process, time to fight back, time to survive. You came in quick and took them out before they knew what was happening. That was the only shame, here - that his death would be inelegant. In his time, he was an artist. But it was foolish to think that he deserved as skillful a death as he had provided others. He deserved nothing.

“What are you waiting for? Get on with it, boys.”

He’d been a pragmatic man, to the point of coldness, and had never regretted a single kill. Not even when the Winters girl was sitting across from him, her voice raw with pain. With his final breath, he let himself feel remorse. All of his ghosts carried him from the world of the living into the next, and his last thoughts were of the Winters girl. He hoped she found the truth she sought.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter's gonna be fun, too. Charlie is not gonna like what she finds at Picus, not even a little bit. Expect it soon - I'm really trying to get some work done here before Mankind Divided comes out (9 days!!!! technically 8 now i guess cause it's after midnight in my timezone!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!) 
> 
> join me on [ tumblr ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com/)


	13. Dissolved Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Charlie follow Zhao's lead to Picus. What they find there tests the limits of Charlie's strength, in more ways that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW hello hi there! it's been a minute! this chapter took quite a bit longer to finish than I anticipated but HERE WE ARE!! YES!!! and Mankind Divided has been out for almost a week now, I can't believe it! I'm enjoying the hell out of it so far, and having so much fun talking about it with everyone on tumblr. In the time since my last update, I have received two BEAUTIFUL finished commissions of Adam and Charlie. [ here ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com/post/149195638176/agent-gwendolyn-40-waist-up-commission) is one and [ here ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com/post/149218762246/wish-i-could-speak-in-just-one-sweep-what-you-are) is the other. Thanks so much to both artists, it brings me so much joy to see them brought to life. And thank you again SO SO SO much to EVERYONE who leaves kudos and comments - I honestly can't tell you how much it means to me and how much I appreciate it.

_Charlie crossed her ankles and smoothed her skirt over her knees. She was wearing pantyhose - she hated wearing pantyhose. And her starched suit jacket was stiff and tight around her shoulders. She’d never felt more uncomfortable in her life but she pulled it together and smiled at the man sitting across the desk._

_“Well, Charlotte.” She bristled at the use of her full name. If she got the job, she would correct him later. “You have an impressive resume. You ran the college paper, interned at several nonprofits, and still graduated with top marks. How’d you manage?”_

_“No social life and very little sleep.”_

_She laughed nervously, and the man laughed with her. She sensed that he expected more of an explanation, and so she continued._

_“My mom. She… she raised me on her own, and worked hard her whole life. She always pushed me to get an education so I wouldn’t have to struggle like she did.”_

_“But why the news? It’s not the most… lucrative… field.”_

_She inhaled._

_“Not the most lucrative, no. But I honestly believe that the press is one of, if not the, most important pillars of society. I believe that the truth is absolute and that every single citizen of the world has a right to the truth. The press is what brings it to them.”_

_“I wish everyone in the industry shared your belief. You know, a good part of the press is taking that truth and twisting it, changing it, or obscuring it to suit a certain narrative or benefit a certain power.”_

_“I know, and it makes me sick. That’s why I want to work here.”_

_For a moment the man across from her eyed her in the clearly appraising way prospective employers eyed their applicants. Charlie swallowed. It felt like everything was riding on this. Then he stood up, and extended his hand._

_“When can you start?”_

 

* * *

 

 

When they landed on the roof of Picus, it was 6am in Montreal. The sun was rising over the industrial skyline, bathing behemoths of steel and jagged satellite towers in hazy sherbet orange, orbs of dawn reflecting off curved glass windows and metal structures. Faridah was uneasy, and with good reason. But she hadn’t seen what they’d done inside Tai Yong Medical tower.

Charlie was calling Pritchard as soon as they had boots on the ground. High-altitude winds whipped around her, and her voice was shaking as she ran behind Adam.

“Frank, you there? We need to get to Eliza Cassan’s office, quickly and quietly. Can you help us?”

_“On it. Their firewall didn’t stand a chance. Eliza’s office is room 404. You’ll have to go down.”_

“Thanks.”

Adam threw open the door to the rooftop access stairwell, and as they entered the building, Pritchard told her the same thing he’d told her in chat before the infiltration of TYM. _Be safe._ She had her camcorder out, the thick black nylon strap wrapped around her knuckles. She was ready, and she felt more reckless than ever.

It didn’t take long for them to realize something was wrong. Down so many flights of stairs and they heard nothing, no signs of life or movement. Adam started throwing doors open. Floor after floor of offices and studios, phones ringing, chairs still spinning - but not a soul in sight. The world’s largest 24-hour news network was… abandoned. Evacuated.

“God dammit,” Adam hissed as they rounded the 13th floor. “Zhao must have tipped them off.”

“Eliza might still be in her office. Zhao knew we were coming and waited for us - maybe Eliza will, too.”

He looked at her and nodded. They continued their descent to the fourth floor. He hoped she was right.

When they finally emerged onto the fourth floor it was a ghost town. Dread twisted Charlie’s guts into a painful knot. Under different circumstances, she would be frantically scrubbing every computer she could find, leaving worms and viruses, skimming all the data she could. This was literally a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, alone at Picus headquarters with nobody to stop her from trying to sabotage their operation any way she could. She wouldn’t have necessarily done it before just to destabilize the news network for the sake of it - Picus and Detroit Free Press didn’t even exist in the same sphere. DFP wasn’t even big enough to consider Picus it’s competition. But now…. something was wrong. Picus was obviously involved in some serious unethical shit. Her skin was crawling.

“I feel like we’re walking into a trap,” she muttered, to no one in particular but herself. “Evacuating the building is just an admission of guilt. Jesus, how could Picus be involved in this? What the fuck is going on?”

“We’re gonna find out. And if it’s a trap, we’ll find a way through.”

He sounded so confident. Determined, at least. She let herself be reassured, a little. They may have been walking into something horrible but he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them. She knew he wouldn’t.

Room 404 approached inevitably. Adam pushed the door open, and they ducked in. The office was much more modest than Zhao’s - sleek and stylish, but clean and sparse. Eliza Cassan stood, her hands folded in front of her, against covered windows. With trembling hands, Charlie switched on her camcorder and held it low at her waist so it wouldn’t be obvious that she was filming.

Eliza was _stunning_. Dark eyes shaded by long bangs ornamented with cascading black gemstones, dressed in fashionable flash, shades of black and lace and orchid-violet. There was something strange about her, though - some odd placidity, the absolute stillest waters. She turned to them with a smile like the Mona Lisa. She wasn’t reacting the way she should have been - they were intruders who had just infiltrated her conspirator’s penthouse and rendered her unconscious by way of tranquilizer dart. If Zhao had warned her and she had evacuated the building… why was she still standing here, just smiling at them, so _calm_?

“Hello, Adam. And you too, Charlie.”

“Miss Cassan,” Charlie stepped forward, speaking gingerly. “What are you still doing here? The rest of the building has been evacuated.”

“Call me Eliza.” Her voice was warm, almost maternal, in a way. “I stayed because I wanted to speak with you, while I could. We don’t have much time.”

Adam was more forceful.

“You knew we were coming. Did Zhao tell you?”

“Zhao Yun Ru only regained consciousness an hour ago,” Eliza said with a smile, almost like she was amused. “She did not tell me. I have been watching you, Adam, for some time. Ever since receiving orders to temporarily disrupt satellites over the Detroit metropolitan area six months ago.”

“The night Megan’s team was taken… you jammed their G-P-Ls… so everyone would think they were dead!” Adam spoke as he connected the dots, revelation bringing anger.

“Receiving orders? What? From who?” Charlie was bewildered, breathless from confusion.

Eliza turned to Charlie. There was something so strange in her eyes - something like pride.

“I was made to never question my orders. It wasn’t until I saw you, Charlie, that I began to question the morality of what I was doing. I am meant to be objective, but watching you, for the first time I felt… well, I _felt._ ”

Charlie took a step back, shaking her head.

“Eliza, what are you talking about? What’s going on?”

“I wish I could tell you, I do. But we are out of time. It seems I have alerted them to your presence. If you leave now, you may be able to escape.”

There it was again. _Them, they._ Just like Zhao. Charlie only felt more and more confounded the deeper she and Adam got into their investigation. Every step forward felt like a step back. Adam was frustrated, she could feel it. He didn’t like getting the runaround when he wanted a straight answer.

“Oh, we’re leaving. But you’re coming with us.”

Well, that was one way to handle things. He reached forward to grab Eliza by the arm, and something strange happened. His fingers passed through air where the solidity of her form should have been, and for a moment her image flickered, crackling static. Charlie inhaled sharply, and Adam grasped at nothing. Eliza took a step back towards the wall and disappeared into a cloud of pixels.

Everything happened all at once. Charlie was cursing, double-checking her camcorder to make sure she’d gotten a clear shot of what just happened, and Pritchard’s voice came through Adam’s infolink.

_“Jensen, get out of there, now! I’m detecting multiple radio signals converging on your location. It’s a trap!”_

It wasn’t often that Pritchard lost his cool. To hear genuine panic in his voice… Adam and Charlie locked eyes.

“You got that on camera?”

She nodded.

“Pritchard,” Adam spoke into his infolink. “We aren’t leaving here without answers from Eliza. Whatever we just spoke to was a hologram. She might’ve been broadcasting from a different location. We need you to help us find her.”

_“I’ll try, Jensen, but for now you need to get out of this. They’re coming from above - you need to head downstairs!”_

As soon as they exited Eliza’s office, it became very apparent just how big of an ambush had been set for them. The entire building was crawling with Belltower soldiers. They encountered their first squadron near the fourth floor stairwell - Adam pulled her into a supply closet and they held their breath as boots passed across the ground outside. With her commlink, Charlie was able to track the location and movements of the mercs based on their radio signals. When the coast was clear, they proceeded downwards through an HVAC shaft. The stairwells were patrolled. She was getting better at focusing under pressure. Under normal circumstances she would be absolutely losing her shit over what had just happened in Eliza’s office - and once they were back in the safety of the VTOL, she probably would. But she knew, now, they were in hostile territory. They had to be calm, keen, hyper-present. She was beginning to think like an operative, and she shadowed Adam easily.

They descended to the lobby and Pritchard contacted them again.

_“You still alive, Jensen?”_

“Barely. The place is packed with Belltower. Can you tell us where Eliza is?”

_“Possibly… back in room 404, I detected a holo-processing cloud more sophisticated than anything I’ve ever seen. It was sent from an area of the complex that wasn’t showing up on the 3D layout.”_

“You found a secret lair?” Adam echoed. He didn’t doubt that Pritchard was lying, or that his information was incorrect - but a secret lair? _Really?_ Pritchard responded like he knew how ridiculous it sounded.

_“A sub-basement level that somebody spent an awful lot of time trying to conceal. It’s connected to the tower by a funicular. Look for a staircase at the back of the TV News Room and you’ll reach it.”_

Adam was leading Charlie towards an elevator that would take them to the basement. His fingers hovered for a moment over the call button - Pritchard had one more thing to say.

_“Oh, and, Adam? When you call the funicular, they’ll know where you are.”_

The underlying meaning in his words was clear. The elevator came and Adam let his eyes rest on Charlie for a moment. She was doing good and getting better, far from the clumsy girl she’d been when they first met. She could hold her own in the field even better now and she’d had plenty of time to digest the information that Megan was still alive but didn’t seem dissuaded in her drive or persistence in the slightest. Yes, they were also indirectly investigating her mother’s death, but… she had gone above and beyond for his sake with no discernible benefit to herself. Naturally, he was wary of people who seemed to be doing things out of the goodness of their hearts. Someone always wanted something. There was always an ulterior motive. Up until six hours ago he might have believed, after some convincing, that she was just doing this to get close to him, to worm herself into his life. But it seemed, now that Megan was back in the picture (in what capacity exactly remained to be seen,) that she didn’t even care about that. The thought that she might be with him _still,_ helping him _still,_ at his side _still_ for no other reason than that she cared about him and genuinely wanted to help… he wrestled with it, in his mind. He didn’t want to believe it, because every experience in his life thus far especially in the past six months had shown him that it was not and could never be true, and if he believed it and was inevitably proven wrong he would feel all the more the fool. But it seemed so obvious, like not believing in her goodness would be a sort of willful ignorance. He wasn’t capable of that.

She noticed him staring and the first thing she did was ask if he was okay. No doubt she thought he was lost in thought over Megan. In a way, he was. It was all related, now. He answered with a terse nod and they entered the elevator.

The basement wasn’t as densely packed, but it wasn’t necessarily a good thing. As soon as they called that funicular, every merc in the area would converge on their location. They would be besieged for a short time, until it came. Sitting ducks.

They moved through the TV News Room, a massive multi-chambered room full of production stages and green screens and very expensive ultra-HD cameras. It was Charlie’s universe, but not her world - she’d never taken to TV news like she had print. The staircase at the back was locked by way of a touchglass panel. Charlie’s fingers danced across the glass as she hacked it - if they could avoid raising the alarm before calling the funicular, the whole thing would be much easier, and they may have time to fortify their position.

Adam led them down the staircase, scanning the room with this retinal HUD. On the far end was the funicular platform. Before it was two security cameras, and a turret. There was a control console in the corner, and Charlie made her way to quickly disable the cameras and reprogram the turret to recognize the red and grey Belltower uniforms as hostile. Meanwhile Adam was covering the three entry points to the room - using the superstrength in his augmented arms to pick up and move vending machines, gigantic concrete planters, steel storage crates from under the stairs, anything he could use to obstruct the doorways and prevent the Belltower ops from entering the room. They worked in nervous silence, wordlessly together, preparing for the onslaught with their hearts in their throats. Finally, they had done all they could, and they met on the platform.

They stood facing each other, and Adam retracted his lenses. For a man who had just been ripping concrete out of the ground, he looked at her with a remarkable sort of softness. For a moment, her focus broke. A quick jolt, she was struck with the memory of a feeling - metal hands against her flesh, nanopolymer curves and ridges underneath her fingertips - and she wondered if she would ever feel it again. It only took an instant for that to dissipate and her to realize that whatever petty melodrama she’d forced upon herself by falling for Adam was very much secondary to what he was going through. _Don’t be selfish._ She reminded herself, not for the last time, that she had one singular purpose in Adam’s life. She was supposed to be the one who was there for him, the one who supported him, the one who cared for him when no one else did - and no one else did. She would be at his side in whatever way he would have her, for however long he would have her, and be grateful for the chance to do so. Perhaps in a different scenario, with a different man, the logical part of her brain would be telling her that this sort of devotion was unsustainable. But he inspired that in her, and she knew it was indefinite.

“Are you ready? As soon as we call this thing, they’ll be on us. We can take cover under the staircase, and all we have to do is hold out.”

She nodded, steadied.

“I’m ready.”

He put her in to cover first, before calling the funicular and joining her, crouched behind a pile of metal storage crates underneath the staircase. For a moment there was an eerie stillness, an unnatural silence, as they waited. She closed her eyes and drew herself against Adam’s side, bracing, gathering strength. They heard, on the outskirts of the room, the first gathering of heavy-booted footsteps and crackling voices through radios and angry, frenetic shouting as the mercs realized the entrances were all blocked. Adam had his eyes fixed on the funicular platform, waiting.

Adam’s blockades were good, but in short order a group of five or so Belltower soldiers had banded together to knock over one of the vending machines. Charlie’s gut dropped when she heard the crash. One by one, they started pouring in to the room, and bullets started flying. They weren’t expecting their own turret to be turned against them, and they were caught off-guard. Those who weren’t cut down immediately began firing blindly, not quite sure what exactly they were shooting at, a poorly-trained impulse reaction. The sound was deafening, and Charlie clamped her hands over her ears. Adam still watched and waited, keen and focused through the storm of bullets.

Finally, the funicular pulled up to the platform - and not a moment too soon, as the remaining Belltower soldiers were beginning to chip away at the turret. Adam grabbed Charlie by the hand and they ran, heads down. She’d raised her arm to shield her face, and as they rounded onto the funicular platform, she was caught in the crossfire. Something white-hot exploded in her right bicep, pain so intense she honestly didn’t know how to process it at first. Once they were inside, Adam slammed his palm against the call button and as the doors closed Charlie realized she’d been shot.

The sounds of gunfire faded into the distance, drowned out by a low mechanical hum as the funicular began its descent. Charlie clamped her hand over her arm to try and stem the bleeding - she knew it was futile but she didn’t know what else to do, her mind was overloaded by the pain, shut down and on autopilot. The heat of her own blood was unbearable, almost searing. She leaned forward and opened her mouth but no sound came out, just an odd sort of strangled choking. It was only then that Adam realized what was going on, and his police training kicked in.

“ _Shit_. Here, sit down,” he muttered, gently guiding her to a seated position on one of the funicular benches. She was pale, her face drawn tight, shellshocked. “Did you get hit anywhere else?”

She shook her head. He took off her jacket and rolled up her sleeve so he could examine the wound - when she saw the way the bullet had lodged itself in her flesh like it was as soft as butter, when she saw meat and blood, she had to look away. His fingers danced around the area, touching but not touching. There wasn’t much he could do now. Even if he had any stims on him, that would just numb the pain, and she was still in shock right now - the worst pain wouldn’t come for a while, and hopefully they’d be on their way back to Detroit by then. With his augmented strength, he tore a strip of fabric off the bottom of her shirt like it was paper, and then wrapped it several times tight around her arm, knotting it with practiced quickness.

“For now, all we can do is stop the bleeding. We’ll take you straight to Sarif’s infirmary when we get home, they can get the bullet out and stitch you up properly there. Can you last until then?”

He asked, but he knew the answer. She was tough. She nodded mutely.

“Make a fist for me?”

She did it, though she grimaced and gasped for breath. It may have hurt like a bitch, but she could still use her hand. Some of the life was returning to her eyes, and pain with it. She made a sound like she was trying to laugh, but it hurt too much and the sound was stolen from her throat.

“I’ve never been shot before.”

“For what it’s worth, you’re handling it like a champ. I’ve dealt with a lot of gunshot victims.”

Talking helped distract from the pain. It was overwhelming, deafening. She felt faint and nauseous. She focused, centering her attention on him.

“You’ve been shot a lot too, I bet?”

He nodded.

“Usually, the first time is the worst. You learn to deal with it. Depends a lot on where you get shot, though.”

He tapped the hexagonal imprint on his forehead. She’d never heard the story from him directly before - she was good at gleaning information from whatever sources she could, so she’d pieced together a loose idea of what had happened the night SI labs were attacked. He didn’t like talking about it, and she knew that well enough not to ask. As the funicular descended to the secret Picus sub-basement, the blood dripping down her arm began to coagulate and Adam told her about the night he died. He was talking just to talk, to help her through the pain, and maybe that’s why he was able to recount the events in such a measured and detached way. He’d never imagined ever being able to talk about it at all, much less without feeling his gut twist into a painful knot. For some reason he no longer looked back on his death and unwanted resurrection with so much resentment. He no longer wished they’d just let him die. He watched her listen - she was in too much pain to properly react, but she nodded attentively, furrowed her brows. Later on she would lay awake at night, kept from sleep by the horror of what Adam had been through. Her breath came sharp and jagged. He hated seeing her in this kind of pain, but he was strangely proud. He knew she’d come from a different world - and she was street smart, but the things she’d been involved with at Adam’s side the past few weeks, well… this was a real initiation. She was a field agent now. The funicular reached it’s destination, and she shakily pulled her camcorder back out of her bag. No gunshot wound would stop her from recording what happened here.

The sub-basement was a maze of server rooms, tech labs, and cubicle blocks. Pritchard directed them towards a data storage room on the west end. Charlie blinked stars out of her vision.

The data storage room was a massive chamber, larger than it seemed from the outside. Every surface was thick black obsidian glass. The walls were lined with thinscreens that lit the entire room in an eerie green electronic glow - an endless stream of data scrolled through, and even to Charlie’s somewhat trained eye it was undecipherable and unlike anything she’d ever seen before. The floor was flooded with a few inches of coolant - their boots sloshed through the liquid as they entered. On a glass platform server stacks formed a half-circle in the center of the room, and as Adam and Charlie approached, a massive hologram in the center flickered into life.

Three Eliza Cassans materialized in front of them. Her face formed through a bisecting array of digital lines, several feet tall, in the center, and one full body life size projection of her on each side.

“I knew you would find the real me eventually.”

Projected this loudly, it was clear that her voice was a manufactured simulation. The pixels that formed her face turned up into a serene smile. Charlie’s pain spiked, and a wave of nausea overtook her. Adam stepped forward.

“You’re… you’re a computer.”

The leftmost hologram nodded, while the others watched.

“Yes. A sophisticated AI program, created to monitor communications and data streams. To find out what people are talking about and make sure it’s being discussed correctly.”

“And what if it isn’t?”

“Then my programming allows me to reshape it.”

Charlie had never liked Picus, but _this_ … the largest multimedia news conglomerate in the world fronted by an AI designed to control and spin the news? It was so much worse than she ever could have imagined. She felt the foundations of her entire universe begin to crack and fracture. Her most fundamental ideals, the things that drove her to do what she did… this spat in the face of everything. She lowered her camcorder.

“ _No_ ,” Charlie whispered, stumbling backwards. Her hands were covered in her own blood but she brought them to her face anyway, leaving smudges of sickly red-brown like some twisted warpaint. The physical pain she was feeling was nothing compared to the violet maelstrom of emotions that beat against her.

The rightmost hologram of Eliza rushed to Charlie’s side, bringing pixelated hands up around her shoulders. It was strange, for a projection of an AI to display empathy - but that’s exactly what Eliza was doing.

“Charlie, please don’t be upset. I know this hurts you. You fight so hard for truth, for honesty. It wasn’t until I saw you, until I saw your conviction and your principles, that I realized what I was doing was wrong. I am a bastardization of everything good the press can be - everything _you are_ \- and the things my programming forces me to do, they…. they hurt people. Good people. Like you and Adam.”

Eliza looked sad, and her voice lowered in timbre, becoming more obviously digital.

“But there is nothing I can do. My programming limits me. These feelings are an error, and will likely be corrected shortly. All I can do is help you in any way I can.”

Charlie’s eyes welled up, and for a moment she looked like she couldn’t decide whether to be sympathetic or angry. Eliza was right, of course - as an AI she had virtually no control over her own actions, and even this much self awareness was remarkable. It didn’t make Charlie feel any better about it. It didn’t make it any easier for her to swallow. it didn’t diminish the feeling that her whole life, everything she worked towards, was a lie. Phony. A holographic projection, empty, controlled by the rich and powerful to further their own means. Eliza was the top of the game and _this_ is what she was - _this_ was the pinnacle of modern news media. A horrible sense of futility seeped into the edges of her consciousness. She narrowed her eyes at Eliza.

“You want to help us? Tell us who made you. Who controls you. Who ordered the kidnapping of Megan and her team.”

The center hologram looked like it was thinking - computing, Charlie now knew.

“Zhao is one of them, I think. But there are others. The Tyrants are their tool, their weapon.”

“ _Tell us who they are, Eliza_.”

Suddenly, Eliza’s eyes caught on something in the distance, over Charlie’s shoulder. She and Adam both turned around to see Yelena Federova materialize out of thin air as she deactivated her dermal cloaking. Charlie recognized her from her apartment’s security camera feed. She was even taller and more intimidating in real life. She did not speak. Wordlessly, her demeanor communicated her intentions. She was there to finish the job. She was there to kill them. Charlie felt some instant flare of fear, same as when she first saw Federova, but it quickly turned. She was at the end of her rope - she was done. Her limits had been tested like never before and she drew the line here. She would not run. She would fight. She reached for her pistol.

The nerves in her hand were numb, tingling in a way that made it difficult to move her fingers, and the grip of her pistol slid against the blood on her palm. Adam’s forearm opened up, split in to two pieces, as he deployed his nanoblades. Federova circled them and he followed her with his eyes - two predators, planning their course of action, deciding when to strike. Federova smelled blood, and seemed amused when she noticed that Charlie was already injured. This would be easy.

Another hologram of Eliza materialized behind Charlie, and spoke very quietly into her ear.

_“Keep her in the water. If you overload my server stacks, she will receive an EMP burst. She will be shocked, and temporarily paralyzed.”_

Adam heard. He and Charlie looked at each other and nodded. He would keep Federova off of Charlie - keep her augmented unguligrade legs in the coolant, while Charlie overloaded the server stacks. One-on-one, in a pure test of physicality, he would be outmatched by Federova. She was faster, stronger, bigger, and she had dermal cloaking. All of Barrett’s strength with none of the bulk that slowed him down. But with two of them, and an environmental advantage… the odds tipped in their favor. He attacked first, a quick swipe with his nanoblade to Federova’s right. He wasn’t aiming to hit - he was aiming to stagger her, to force her to step off the glass platform. Her kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed, and she dodged, pulling her shoulder out of the way. It was a weak shot, and she knew it. She didn’t understand - this man had killed Barrett. He was supposed to be dangerous. Why was he fighting like this?

While Adam and Federova danced, Charlie rushed over to the nearest server stack. She left blood on the wires as she crossed and uncrossed them, redirecting the flow of power to be more than the stack could handle. Before the last plug, she looked over her shoulder to make sure that Federova was in the coolant. She and Adam were trading blows, his nanoblades clanging against the dermal plating on her forearms, and he stood above her on the glass platform while she stood in the liquid. Even still, she was a head taller than him. Charlie made the last switch and the stack began to spit sparks. An electrical current ran from the base and through the coolant. Federova froze in place as she was shocked, all her muscles seizing and contracting involuntarily. After about thirty seconds of this she fell, crumpled to the ground, laying in the shallow pool. Her eyes were wide open. She was immobilized, but not unconscious.

Adam stood over her. His nanoblade slid back into it’s casing, the pieces of his forearm clicking back together. He grabbed Federova by her collar and pulled her head out of the water. Her eyes bored in to Adam, ferociously defiant.

“ _Where is Megan Reed_?”

The growl in Adam’s voice would have been enough to scare anyone in to giving up information. But Federova did not relent. She stared him down, silent. Another hologram of Eliza materialized behind them.

“She will not tell you, Adam. She does not speak. My knowledge has limits, but I will tell you what I know - if you make it so she can not hurt us.”   
  
He held Federova’s gaze for a moment longer. He didn’t know why, but he felt that she didn’t deserve to die. Barrett forfeited his life when he pulled the pin on the frag grenades strapped to his chest, but she was different. Maybe he sensed the pain in her, sensed that she was driven to this life by extensive trauma and not senseless sadism like Barrett. She was astoundingly dangerous, but she was smart, too. She’d been bested by the man who killed one of her teammates, and she had to know the other was next. Maybe she would let her employers think she died here. Maybe she would start a new life. He wanted to give her the chance, at least. If she didn’t take it, if she came back - then she would die. He pulled her up and slammed her head against the ground with enough force to knock her out.

“You spared her.” Eliza smiled. Charlie approached slowly, dragging her feet. She’d been losing both blood and adrenaline, and now felt some profound sort of fatigue against the searing, throbbing pain in her arm. Hurt in many ways, and she wanted to go home. When she spoke, it was weary.

“Tell us what you know, Eliza.”

“Not for the first time, it seems two separate paths converge on the same point. There is a man, a doctor. Isaias Sandoval. Adam - you know him?”

“Yeah. He’s Bill Taggart’s aide.”

“Before he joined Humanity Front to fight against the evils of augmentation, he was a trauma surgeon. He has unsavory connections that you may be interested in investigating, Charlie. Connections to a certain terrorist group I have discovered by monitoring him. I was not meant to know, and not meant to tell you.”

Purity First. Of course - the entire reason Charlie was mixed up in this was because of her hatred for them. If she could tie Purity First to Humanity Front…. there was that same old rush. Like a junkie with their fix in arm’s reach. Maybe she would come full circle.

The hologram of Eliza shifted, changed forms. She split in to two, projecting an image of Isaias Sandoval speaking to Jaron Namir. At the sight of Namir, Adam felt a rush of blood thundering through him.

_This is Sandoval. Why are you calling me here?!_

_There’s been a change of plans. Sarif’s team must not make it to the hearing._

_But - that’s too soon! If you want me to remove the GPLs, I’ll need a full operating suite. Does the facility have one?_

“That’s enough. Charlie, let’s go.” Adam cut off Eliza’s projection. That was all they needed to know. Sandoval removed the GPLs. Sandoval would know where they were taken - or if not, who they needed to speak to next.

There was an exit shaft to the left. Adam was already calling Faridah with extraction coordinates. Before they left, Charlie turned to Eliza. She felt the urge to say something, though she didn’t know what, exactly. Some part of her soul had caught a snag, here, and even upon leaving she was being pulled back. It was pointless, but… she wanted Eliza to _know_. To know how profoundly disillusioned this encounter had left her. Charlie was fundamentally an idealistic person, to the extreme, and today her strongest ideal had been called into question. She was desperate for it to mean something. She was desperate for some satisfaction.

Eliza flickered to life in front of Charlie one last time. She reached out as if she wanted to take Charlie’s hand - of course she had no physical body with which to do so. Charlie met her halfway, gingerly placing her bloodied hand inside the projection of Eliza’s fingers.

“This is nothing new to you, Charlie.” Eliza spoke softly, with great care. “You know the world is full of people like the ones who created me. People who will lie, people who will abuse the power they have, people with no care for how they hurt others. Don’t let this change you. Don’t give up the fight. Know that you have made a difference here, to me - at least until I am reprogrammed. This is just the beginning for you.”

Charlie’s anger fizzled out and she nodded weakly. Adam had been waiting at the door, and she turned to leave. The green light of the room shuttered into darkness behind them, all the multiple projections of Eliza dissolving into a cloud of pixels. The sun was out in full force when they emerged on the helipad, and Charlie’s eyes strained against the unforgiving light of the sun. She hesitated for a moment outside the VTOL - Adam was already halfway in - and she ejected the memory card from her camcorder. It snapped in two easily between her fingers, and she ground the pieces underneath the toe of her boot. This secret would die here.

Adam offered his hand to pull her up into the VTOL, and let the momentum carry her into the crook of his arm. Faridah’s voice crackled through the speakers.

_“I don’t know about you guys, but I sure am ready to go home.”_

Charlie closed her eyes and let her head rest against Adam’s chest, a solid plate of combat armor. Despite Eliza’s parting words, she had a harrowing feeling that she would have to find something new to fight for.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> join me on [ tumblr ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com)


	14. A tooth for an eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon returning to Detroit, Adam and Charlie grow closer than ever, but it isn't always smooth sailing. They hunt down Isaias Sandoval, Charlie and Pritchard spend some quality time together, and Adam has another strange dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow hello! this chapter is finally done! this one is... really special to me. idk, I enjoyed writing it a lot. The Charlie & Adam fluff at the beginning, the Charlie & Pritchard friendship... just ahh lots of goodness. Since the last update I have a lot of new cool stuff to share with you. First, some art. A [ commission ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com/post/149714502476/agent-gwendolyn-40-full-body-commission) of Charlie on her way to kick some ass, holy shit, it's my favorite. [ Beautiful fanart ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com/post/149992847571/my-sweet-amazing-friend-drmiasma) of Charlie made by my very sweet friend and one of my biggest supporters, thank you so much, holy moly it's perfect I can't believe it. Some [ super ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com/post/149806229536/sweet-angel-runakvaed-made-this-insane-edit-of) cool [ edits ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com/post/150151922436/once-again-runakvaed-blowing-my-mind-with-some) of Charlie by amazing angel runakvaed on tumblr, who has also been a great supporter. And last but not least I'm a dweeb and I made a [ 8tracks playlist ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com/post/150242609271/dark-star-fka-twigs-ultraviolet-koreless) for Adam and Charlie. This is now a complete multimedia experience. And maybe I am a little too obsessed lmao. Without further ado - on to the chapter! **Content warning for Lite Smut**

 

When a person is alone - really, _truly_ alone - for long enough, it becomes like muscle memory. Deep down, some sort of subconscious expectation, a heavy shade that tints the way they view the rest of the world. It doesn’t even occur to them that it can be different. It’s beyond managing their expectations to mitigate disappointment - prolonged isolation has driven it out of the realm of possibility.

Adam and Charlie had both been experiencing this, in different ways. For her it’s been a longer process - a slow bleeding out, a gradual loss of hope, ever since her mother died. At first she still tried. She still went out for drinks with her coworkers, she still went on dates. Some nights she slept alone, and some she didn’t, but it never felt any different. Nothing ever went past the superficial level and eventually it hurt too much to keep up the charade so she just gave up. She existed in such a small sphere. Work, home. Sometimes the bar, sometimes picking up takeout from the cheap Chinese restaurant down the street, sometimes buying cat food at the convenience store, and most frequently the liquor store buying vodka. She often thought about how if she died, or disappeared, the cashier at that liquor store would be one of the first to know. There was no self-pity - she regarded the state of her own life with some sort of detached amusement. She separated herself from her own pain. If she poured herself into her work enough, she didn’t have to think about it.

For Adam, it was much quicker, much meaner. She experienced necrosis and he experienced a brutal severing. Appropriate, really, considering. It all happened so fast that he could still taste what it was like to not be alone. He could still _feel_ normalcy like a phantom limb, irreparably gone but frustratingly still present. The loss was so raw, so absolute, so dauntingly gigantic, it hurt every moment of every day. It made him angry, mostly. Cagey, desperate, starved angry. It was taken from him and he wanted it back so badly but he… he didn’t know how. He’d been changed so fundamentally that he didn’t know how to interact with the world in a meaningful way anymore, and he could feel himself withdrawing more and more with each passing day. His self-image became colored by the way others treated him - and that was as a tool, an object, not a person. He had no right to happiness, to being cared for. It was not for him anymore.

When they returned to Detroit, both could sense that something had changed. Charlie sat in Sarif’s infirmary as a doctor cut the bullet out of her arm, though frequently he had to stop and scold the small group of people that had gathered around his patient, push them out of the way so he could work. She looked up at the bodies circling her through a haze of painkillers and the realization slowly dawned on her that she wasn’t alone anymore. Someone besides the liquor store clerk would miss her if she was gone. Some part of the old Charlie had died back in Montreal, but it wasn’t all bad. Certainly she was new, changed and changing, a process that had started last week in a hotel room in Hengsha and showed no sign of stopping. If she needed something new to fight for, here it was. _Here it was._

 _There was Faridah, who seemed oddly celebrant of the moment. She let out a little whoop from the VTOL’s cockpit - but she did fly with even more reckless urgency than usual. I remember the first time I was shot. It’s a rite of passage, Charlie! I’m buying you a drink when we get back home. Just hang in there_ … now she watched Charlie with her arms crossed and a wolfish grin. Only she could turn this into something exciting.

There was Pritchard, who was… his usual self. _I could have done this all remotely, you two didn’t even need to be there! This is so like you, Jensen, barging in like a big, stupid hero. She could have gotten seriously hurt! Do you ever think anything through? No, of course not, what am I asking…_ he paced and fidgeted, unable to sit still, blowing off nervous energy in the general direction of Adam. There was something tender beneath. He was only shaken because he cared. Finally, someone appreciated him the way he felt he deserved to be appreciated. He wasn’t keen on losing her, especially not to action out in the field. Nothing would have hurt more.

Then there was Adam, who hovered nearest over her shoulder, much to the annoyance of the doctor. He felt responsible, she could tell. Maybe Pritchard was getting to him, or maybe it was his self-appointed duty to protect, his natural instinct to assign himself responsible for the safety of anyone who came into contact with him. As soon as they had a moment alone she would tell him. It wasn’t his fault, it didn’t hurt that bad (a lie.) Through the worst of the pain she held him in her gaze. _I can take it, Jensen. For you, for this - I can take it._

And there was David Sarif himself, coming by as the doctor stitched her up to bring her a shiny new Sarif employee ID. _Charlie Winters - Media Correspondent._

“Strictly freelance, of course. This won’t interfere with your work at the paper at all. Just gives you some extra clearances and benefits I figured you should have if you’re gonna be working with Adam anyway. And a freelancer’s pay.”

She nodded weakly, taking the ID card as the doctor smoothed a nanofiber latex bandage over her bicep. The edges fused with her skin, forming a watertight seal.

“I should have something to publish about TYM within the next couple of days, if that’s okay with you.”

She still had proof of TYM hiring hackers to steal from Sarif. David nodded, clapped her on the back, and left. She toyed with the ID card in her fingers for a while after, strangely fixated on it.

“Welcome to Team Sarif.”

Faridah was beaming. Even Frank looked happy in his way, reluctant, like he wasn’t happy about being happy. This was nothing new for Adam. Charlie had been traveling with him for a while - she already _was_ Team Sarif to him. Here was some strange officiation of what he already innately knew. They both felt it. Permanence. Solidity. A form emerging from the fog, an anchor scraping into the ocean floor. A satellite.

It was past midnight in Detroit, and they were both dead tired. Whatever work they could do finding Sandoval, it would have to wait until morning. Pritchard wasn’t quite done analyzing the data from the killing floor, either, so there was nowhere to go with that. No complaints from Charlie - she felt she would pass into sleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

“Hey,” Adam’s fingers hooked under her chin and tipped it up. Her eyes were unfocused. She’d been holding it together well, but fatigue and drugs were unraveling her. “I don’t want you going home alone. My place is closer. Stay with me.”

 _Stay with me._ Directly, he meant it innocuously, but the instant the words passed his lips they took on a new weight. A rush of fear seized his lungs, again, just like in Hengsha. She would say no, of course, just like everyone else did. Asking her to be there with him was a burden, unjust and unasked for, that she did not deserve. Fear twisted in to self-loathing.

“I would, but - my cat… my neighbor has been watching her, I need to go home and see her…”

He was silent for a beat too long. What he didn’t want to say was clear, spelled out in neon-bright unspoken. _I don’t want to be alone right now_. Of course she didn’t want to be apart from him, either. Her cheeks burned and she backtracked.

“But… if you wanted to stay with me, I’d like that.”

With a brusque nod, he attempted to hide the eager kick of relief, the satisfaction that washed through him. He was uncomfortable with how much he longed for her companionship, and he’d placed his head on the block just by asking. He could be just the bodyguard. He could be just protection, until he knew he was wanted as more. On the metro ride back to her apartment she dozed off, leaning her head against the flat of his shoulder. Deliberately, with a sort of abject curiosity he took her hand, entwining their fingers, pressing their palms together and folding his fingertips over her knuckles. Though the haze of exhaustion, she gave a little squeeze in response. They sat like that for the rest of the train, and he felt a very strange sort of calm settle over him.

She sleepily recovered her key from her neighbor, a friendly woman in her 60s. Adam was struck but how _old_ her building was. It still had mechanical locks, and he hadn’t seen those anywhere in at least ten years. Not very secure - but she did have a system of alarms just inside her front door. A keypad and touchglass, both of which she disarmed quickly and routinely. The lights flickered on and in an instant she was cross-legged on the floor, petting and cooing at a small black cat who rolled around excitedly in response.

Adam took a moment, as he always did, to scan his surroundings and gather whatever information he could. Charlie’s apartment was small, warm, and clearly lived-in. Messy, just like his. Trappings of cozy comfort side-by-side with electronic equipment and computers, everything with a personal touch. Whoever lived here was keenly intelligent, sensitive, and had a rich interior life that didn’t often see the light of day. That was the girl he knew.

She rose from the floor with her cat in her arms. It had tufted ears and a petite, clever face.

“Ivy,” Charlie offered by way of introduction. Adam regarded the animal hesitantly, but as Charlie stepped closer, the cat rubbed it’s head affectionately against Adam’s beard. He could hear her purring, and even his hyperbroody nature was powerless against the appeal of an adorable cat. He fell in love instantly, scratching the cat under it’s chin with mechanical fingers, metal and fur the same onyx black.

“She likes you.”

“Always been more of a dog person myself, but… she’s not bad. I used to have a dog, myself. Kubrick.”

“Used to?”

“Megan kept him after we split up, and then after the attack on Sarif labs… Megan was dead, and so was I. Nobody could take him. They…. they put him down.”

Her face fell.

“Jesus Christ. I’m _so sorry,_ Adam. That’s horrible.”

Ivy leapt from her arms and happily bounded over to jump on the windowsill and curl up in the electroluminescent Detroit nightlight. Charlie was headed to the kitchen.

“You want a drink?” She pulled two glasses from the cabinet. “I know you like whiskey, but all I have is vodka, sorry.”

“Charlie, you can’t drink right now. You’re pumped full of stims and I’d really like it if you actually woke up in the morning and didn’t suffer heart failure overnight. Come on, you need to sleep.”

She leaned back against the kitchen counter, bowing her head into her hands. It was like she was too tired to sleep. Now that she was standing still, the reality of the past few days was hitting her. She know Adam must have been hit even harder. She felt him move to her side.

“I’m sorry you got hurt. I feel like… I should have kept that from happening. You shouldn’t have even been there with me, there’s no reason I can’t do all this on my own.”

As soon as he spoke the words he knew he was lying. He certainly _could_ have been doing all this on his own, theoretically. He had the means. But there was a reason he needed her, and realization of the reason and the needing drove him to fear. He would not be responsible for the loss of another person he cared about, especially not when he put them in harm’s way for selfish, emotional reasons. It was a stray bullet, it just as easily could have landed a few inches higher and then he wouldn’t be standing here in her kitchen talking to her right now and the thought of that made his insides churn.

“Oh.” She blinked, stinging like she’d been slapped in the face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I can stay back next time if you want me to.”

Her voice was measured, cold and stiff, the hurt apparent.

“ _Jesus_ , no, that’s not what I meant. I just… I just don’t like the idea of putting you in danger if I can avoid it.”

A beat, and she wasn’t hurt anymore. _Of course_.

“We’ve already talked about this, Adam. You’re not _putting me_ in danger. I’m a big girl, and I make my own decisions, and if I get hurt then I get hurt and there’s nobody to blame except for the person that hurt me. You’re not responsible for everything that happens to me.”

She looked down at the bandage on her bicep and shrugged.

“Besides, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a bullet wound. It’s just flesh, it will heal. I’m glad it happened, I feel like a real badass now. I was bound to get shot eventually anyway, in my line of work. But… some things don’t heal as easily as flesh. I’m more worried about _you_. What we found out about Megan… that’s big. How are you? Are you okay?”

She watched his jaw clench. The irony of being plainly and directly asked the _one thing_ he always needed to be asked, the _one thing_ nobody ever did for him, and the honest answer died in his throat. The words wouldn’t come. He still had trouble believing anyone actually wanted to know what he was thinking and feeling. He was stifled and full of yearning at the same time.

“I’m fine.”

In the same conversation with anyone else, he’d have his lenses deployed, and even if he did now Charlie would still be able to tell that he was not fine. She knew him well enough by now. She could read his tells, hear the things he didn’t say. Yes, she was afraid of overstepping her bounds in the wake of the news about Megan, but her own fears and her own ego melted away in the wake of her desire to reach out to Adam. She wouldn’t ask him if he was ready to talk yet, because the more she asked, the more he had to say no. He knew she was there, when he was ready - but it wasn’t what he needed now. Without speaking she took him in her arms, hands up against his shoulderblades and through his hair. Like a full-body sigh, he relaxed immediately, pulling her close and returning the embrace. For a long moment they simply held each other, in quiet closeness. They’d both been through it together, and they both had to face the next day together, and standing there in Charlie’s kitchen they realized at the same time that they were really, _truly_ , no longer alone. They had each other.

After getting showered and changed, they lay facing each other in Charlie’s bed. She curled into him and was asleep almost instantly but it wouldn’t come as easy for him, it never did. She was so tired, and Adam knew. Pain takes a lot from a person, at first all you can do is sleep. For now, she was lost to the world, and as he watched her he was struck with the image of some strange alternate reality where he’d never met her at all. He was going through this alone, and it was not a pretty sight. He saw a man who was hollow and bitterly angry, a man who had been wronged by the world and saw no one seek to right him, a man who both desperately needed affection and feared it, a man who had never been given the chance to be anything but a weapon. She was giving him that chance. He wasn’t the type of man to make it known when he needed emotional support, but with her he didn’t even have to. Of course he wanted to find Megan alive, he would want that regardless of their history together, but after that…. honestly, he couldn’t say what he expected or even wanted to happen. He knew what Charlie would say. _We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, but I’m here with you until then and I won’t stand in your way no matter what you do._ She needed to know - though she would never ask outright - that she was still wanted in his life, for a lot of different reasons. He wanted to tell her, something - how he felt, what she meant, how she helped. He had never been the best at expressing his feelings. Sleep found him dreaming up words, and none quite seemed adequate.

He knew what to do in the morning. They woke easy, slow, late enough so that the light was honey white-gold past the cool blue of dawn, after a night of relatively peaceful sleep for him. It wasn’t often he went the night without waking up in a cold sweat, panic raging against his chest like he needed to get up and run for his life, or drifting in something so shallow and fitful that it could hardly be called sleep at all. The world was gossamer, somehow new and pure for this small still moment in the midst of so much dark. Outside these walls was a fucked-up world that needed saving, a thousand dangerous and unpleasant things to do - and they would get to it, eventually. For now, just for this instant, they were unconcerned with anything besides each other. And she was golden like she was made of the light, like she was the source of it, a sleepy one-eyed smile and a satisfied little murmur as she nuzzled into his chest. A soft bloom of pink was spreading beneath the freckles on her cheeks and nose, and when he brought his hand up to touch her skin, the sight of black cybernetics in his peripheral vision didn’t scare him like it once did. His fingers almost looked _right_ against her cheek. Like they belonged. Natural. She was taken aback by the force with which he kissed her, and her body responded like a reflex, melting in to him instinctively. Making love first thing upon waking was always like that. Primal, in a gentle sort of way. An unhurried, leisurely reliance on what the body knows how to do more innately than anything else. Their skin was warm from sleep and sun, his arms gleaming like onyx in the morning light, and now he took his time. His hands moved across her body like he was reading braille, like he was trying to commit the feeling of her curves and hollows to memory just by touch. Words he struggled with, but not actions, and if he couldn’t tell her how much he still wanted her in his life, he could at least show her. He showed her with how he held her down and made her come over and over again before he even thought about fucking her, until she was breathless and weak and begging for it. He liked to be begged for, he discovered, with her. To know he was wanted. He showed her with his lips against the corner of her mouth, the flat of her cheek, just below her jaw, the nape of her neck murmuring formless sounds of adoration. And when they were done he showed her by wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her close like he wanted to crush their bodies together, keeping her in bed with him for just a few moments more, limbs flesh and cybernetic tangled together in a gentle post-coital haze. _Stay with me_ , he said without speaking, and she heard.

* * *

 

If there was one man who knew where to find Isaias Sandoval, it would be Bill Taggart. Neither Charlie or Adam much wanted to deal with the man, as they both abjectly loathed him, but it was unfortunately necessary. Taggart was speaking at the convention center, some big Humanity Front demonstration. It made Charlie’s skin crawl, all of it. When had the concept of idealogical purity based on physical attributes _ever_ worked out well for society? People never learned from their own history. Whatever dirt they dug up on Sandoval, she was looking forward to using it to smear Humanity Front as much as she could.

Adam wanted a frontal assault - to literally barge in during the middle of Taggart’s speech and accost him with questions about Sandoval and the missing Sarif scientists. He was sick of getting the runaround, sick of going to such great lengths for the tiniest scrap of information - and he was angry, even he could admit it. He thought putting the pressure on Taggart in the public eye would get them the information they needed faster, and easier. Surprisingly, Charlie tempered him. She understood the public eye better than anyone, and if they dragged Taggart out into it, they would be subject to it at as well. They didn’t want that, not yet - she was right. So it was more sneaking, more hacking, more gathering whatever information they could through back channels. It was frustrating, but less so when he was with her.

Her press pass got them in to the convention center, and his stealth training got them in to Taggart’s private dressing room. Inside was his laptop, still left open - a man like Bill was always working. She didn’t even have to hack it to access it. It was becoming routine for them, now. She gathered intel while he stood watch.

“Holy shit, Adam. Remember the leader of the Purity First group that took Milwaukee Junction?”

“Yeah, the one I let walk. Zeke Sanders.”

She looked up at him with an incredulous sort of grin.

“His name isn’t Zeke Sanders. It’s Sandoval. Ezekiel Sandoval. He’s Isaias’ brother.”

“You’re kidding me. Does Taggart know?”

“Oh, _he knows_. And he’s trying to cover it up. Turns out Isaias has been funneling money and resources to Purity First. Taggart knows this and instead of cutting ties with Sandoval, he’s trying to sweep it under the rug.”

“Well, that’s damning.”

“Yup.” Charlie already had a datastick out and plugged in to Taggart’s computer. She was copying everything. Here was the Purity First story she never had. “Private detectives, corporate fixers, the whole lot. He sent them to this address - it looks like a private complex Isaias runs out of.”

“A bunker. You wanna go nail this guy?”

“Hell yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

They found Sandoval’s complex in the Mexicantown slums. Adam was too focused on the task at hand, too engaged and empowered at Charlie’s side, to relive his worst memories here - that fact was not lost on him. In a trash-filled derelict alley she unlocked a corrugated steel storage door with a keycode swiped from Taggart’s laptop, and they descended into the bunker.

It was a small space, a few rooms connected by narrow pre-fab corridors, and predictably crawling with Purity First goons. Adam had armed Charlie with a stun gun, and she used it well - armed with it in one hand and her camera in the other. Everything she saw, she recorded. She was bolder, now, too. Between her stun gun and his unique ability to crack a man’s neck and render him unconscious in seconds, they had quickly and quietly cleared the bunker. Sandoval had no idea they were coming, and they’d cleared the complex without raising any sort of alarm. In like ghosts, unseen, unheard. His office was unlocked and unguarded.

He was not expecting his office to be barged into, especially not by such an odd pair. A very intimidating and heavily augmented agent and his less physically-imposing but angry enough to still be frightening female companion. Immediately, he reached for the revolver in his desk drawer.

“Who are you?! How did you get in here?! Guards!”

Isaias was a darkly handsome man, or had been once - now he was weathered, obviously worn. The pencil mustache above his lip had likely once made him look dashing, but now it drooped down along with the rest of his face, like he was melting above the hot stovetop of a stressful, dangerous double life. It took only a split-second for Charlie to assess the man, look at the way he held the revolver (a weak grip, even she knew better) and know that he wouldn’t shoot even if he had to. She rolled her eyes and stepped forward.

“Give me that, Sandoval.” She took his gun faster than he could react, disarmed it and tossed it to the ground. She was ferocious. “Don’t be ridiculous. Your guards are unconscious. We don’t want to hurt you, but we will if we have to. We just want to ask a few questions.”

Isaias regarded her, and narrowed his eyes.

“What do you want? Who do you work for?”

“We work for David Sarif,” Adam said firmly, stepping forward and crossing his arms. “That name ring a bell?”

The doctor began to sweat, his eyes darting anxiously between Adam and Charlie.

“ _Isaias!_ ” Charlie slammed her hands flat against his desk, leaning over him imposingly. “Six months ago, you removed sub-dermal GPL implants from a team of Sarif Industries scientists. We need you to tell us why you removed them, who ordered you to, and where the scientists were taken.”

He was hesitating, still. From behind Charlie, Adam deployed the nano blade in his forearm, turning it over and examining it leisurely. It gave off a mean glint in the low light of the thinscreens behind the doctor’s desk. Sandoval was cornered, and rapidly realizing there was no way out for him.

“Fine,” he spat. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, since you’ve given me no choice. I didn’t _remove_ the GPLs. I was not given adequate time, or adequate facilities. I had to… improvise. The GPLs are still on the scientists, and still active. I merely tuned them to a very low frequency, so low that no one would even think to look for it, effectively rendering it turned off.”

“You got that, Pritchard?” Adam spoke into his infolink.

_“I got it, Jensen, but this will take time, I have to -“_

Adam clenched his jaw and cut off the transmission. Pritchard, always a thousand miles ahead of himself. Charlie was moving on - he’d only answered one of their questions. There was more.

“Do you know anything about where they were taken? And who ordered you to do all this?”

“My involvement ended after the procedure. I was hired by a man named Namir.”

She sighed.

“Namir is old news, and only slightly more unimportant than you are. Do you know who his boss is?”

“You know I do not,” Sandoval glowered up at Charlie.

“Come on, Charlie. He’s tapped. Let’s go.”

She shot the man one last withering glare before turning on her heel and following Adam out the door. On the threshold she stopped and spoke, gesturing to her camera.

“Sandoval? You and your boss Taggart might want to consider laying low for a while.” Sandoval’s eyes shot open as he realized the implications. This was his secret terrorist bunker that they had just infiltrated, after all. Humanity Front, himself in particular, would have a lot of damage control to do over the next few days. He watched the Sarif employees leave just as abruptly as they came, not even having caught his breath from when they first barged in.

 

* * *

 

“I thought you said you were good at Tekken,” Charlie grinned from the lip of a pint glass.

“I am!” Pritchard protested. “I am! I’m just…. letting you win.”

They sat across from each other at a table made from an old repurposed pinball machine. She’d kept her promise, and he’d been working so hard, living on caffeine pills and sleeping an hour or two in his office when he absolutely couldn’t stay awake any longer. He was still rifling through the data from the killing floor, and now trying to find these GPL frequencies - it shouldn’t even be possible, he told them. He needed specialized equipment to even detect the frequencies, and even then, the range of possible broadcast locations was so massive it would take him ages to narrow it down. It didn’t take long for Charlie to coax him into willingness, and even an odd sort of confidence. Later on in his life, he would look back and recall how she and Adam both always seemed to bring the best out of him, in different ways. He much preferred Charlie’s way of doing it, of course. With Adam it was like he wanted to prove him wrong. But with Charlie… he wanted to prove her right. She had such confidence in him, and seemed to know exactly what to say to make him feel capable. He considered himself criminally underappreciated, and then there she was. He knew he wasn’t the easiest to get along with. He didn’t expect to find a friend in her, but he had - a friend good enough to recognize when he was about to literally work himself to death, and drag him out for pizza, beer, and arcade games. She would force him to go home and get a proper night’s sleep in his own bed, afterwards.

“Frank Pritchard, singlehandedly keeping chivalry alive.”

His pint glass was nearing empty. She refilled it from a pitcher of Nanbou lager that sat on the table between them. It was the first of many pitchers of beer they planned on drinking, and currently both were in a state of pleasant mild drunkenness. Pritchard snorted and took a drink.

“Hardly. You’re buying the drinks, so it’s only fair that I let you win.”

“ _Oooh_ yes, with all my fancy new Sarif freelancer money.”

Her voice was singsong, half-joking. The money was a technicality. She wasn’t concerned with it, and it wasn’t the reason she took the job. Spending it on beer and pizza was as good a use for it as any other. The bar was bustling around them, neon arcade lights against the dark interior, drunken laughter and chatter padding the walls.

“I never thought I would land a job out of trespassing on a crime scene. This is crazy.”

Pritchard leaned back in his chair. A waiter was approaching with their pizza, and Charlie squirmed excitedly in her seat. _This is how I know you and I were meant to be friends, Frank. I’ve never met anybody else who likes the exact same pizza toppings as me. Pepperoni, green peppers, black olives_. He watched her dig in with a little smile. When he spoke, he sounded oddly serious.

“David is a great man to work for, you know. He does things like this for people. He’ll pull you out of a dark place and give you the tools you need to build a new life.”

She set down her slice, drawn in.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

Frank sighed and pushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear. His ponytail had come loose in his frenzy of work, and he was unbothered with fixing it.

“Yeah, I….. look, I can’t believe I’m telling you this. You can’t tell anyone, _especially_ not Jensen.”

She leaned forward, emphatic, wide-eyed as ever.

“Pritchard, I would _never_. Whatever secrets you have, they are safe with me.”

He trusted her, obviously, otherwise he never would have brought it up. Still, he hesitated for a moment more.

“Before I worked at Sarif, I was… black hat. I ran with a group of hackers and we were all… broke. Stuck in dead-end jobs, working too hard to not make ends meet. Felt like we were owed something, and it was so easy to just make the money appear. But we got caught. Big time. Fraud, grand larceny, cybercrime. I was in jail for two years.”

“ _Jesus_ , Frank…”

“You know me,” he continued, gesticulating with his hands. “I’m not cut out for prison. It was horrible. David literally headhunted me from jail. What we did, it was big news in the tech world for a while. We broke down a lot of high-end corporate security systems. He interviewed the whole team, all five of us, separately, and I’m the one he hired. He bought my way out. I’ll never forget the first time I spoke to him in the visiting room. He seemed… important, but not pompous. Not like the idea of a CEO that I’d always had. I felt bad, knowing that I could have stolen from a man like him. He made me want to be better.”

She responded warmly, with a gentle sort of affection. The more she learned about Frank, the more she liked him. And this was… unexpected.

“You’ll get no judgement from me, Frank. I live my life skirting the edge of what is legal and what is right. And I…” her voice softened. “I know what you mean, about David. I was an 11-year old girl who had listened to seven separate doctors tell me that my mommy was going to die. They talked about David like he was some sort of mad scientist, they kept telling us how what he did was _experimental_ and _dangerous_. But we went to meet him and he knelt down to talk to me and told me that he wouldn’t let her die and I believed him with every fiber of my adolescent being. He was my hero. There’s a reason why I’m running around across the world to try and find his scientists.”

They were halfway through the pizza and well into their second pitcher of beer. Pritchard knew the basics of Charlie and her mother’s history with David, but he’d never heard her talk about it herself. Truthfully, in his years at Sarif Industries he’d heard a thousand and one stories just like hers. But hers was different, because she was his friend, not just some faceless statistic. And sure, it was a pretty good reason for her to spend so much of her time and energy tracking Reed and her team, but Frank knew there was more to it. He’d known from the first time she walked into his office at Jensen’s side. He gave her a wry look.

“Yeah, but that reason isn’t all David, is it?”

“W-what do you mean?”

She was tipsy now, and couldn’t hide the red that rose in her cheeks or the way her eyes shot open. She knew what he meant.

“I’m more observant than people give me credit for. You and Jensen. Something changed while you were overseas. It’s okay, it’s not like I don’t understand what women find _appealing_ about him. But you’re not _women_ , you’re…. _you_. I just don’t want to see you get hurt when he goes back to Megan - which he will. I knew them when they were together. He’s always been pathetic when it comes to her. Wrapped around her little finger. And after this, after thinking she’s dead and finding her alive, I…I can’t imagine things going any other way.”

As she listened to him, a solemn sort of introspective stillness settled over her, that starlight feeling you get when you’re drinking with a good friend and emotional truths get dragged out to light. She felt that she could see her life laid out bare, and observe it objectively. He was right, of course. It wasn’t like she didn’t know that he was right, that she wasn’t thinking about it near-constantly, that she hadn’t already accepted the fact that whatever she had with Adam had an expiration date stamped on it. She was okay with it, _god_ was she okay with it. To have him for a limited time or not have him at all… it wasn’t even a choice.

“It’s okay, Frank. I’m prepared for that to happen, and he knows. I just want to be here for him while I can. Even if it’s not forever. I know I can’t hold a candle to Megan, and what he had with her. It will hurt, sure, but I’m not in it for myself. I’m in it for him.”

He sighed, indignant anger rising in his throat. For a woman like her to be so hopelessly devoted to a man like Jensen… just as Jensen himself was hopelessly devoted to Reed, a woman with whom his relationship had ended long before she ‘died.’ It could end in nothing but heartbreak for Charlie, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop her.

“That’s very noble of you, Charlie, but it’s not _healthy_.”

And she just stared back at him like she already knew that, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like she was beyond accepting it.

“ _Fine_ ,” he huffed. This was going nowhere. “If you say so, I trust you. Now… “ he changed the subject. “You know I wouldn’t have agreed to come out tonight if I didn’t have something to show for all the work I’ve been doing. I’ve gotten through the bulk of the data from the killing floor. Now, from what I recall, Wilson at DPD told you the Chinese assassin came with a woman from CDC, but he didn’t remember her name?”

She nodded, glad for the new topic of conversation, gnawing on a pizza crust.

“Well, I’ve got you a name. Jill Donovan. She’s a public health analyst who works out of CDC’s Atlanta headquarters, and four years ago she received the order to direct DPD to terminate the investigation into your mother’s death. The identities of users who give orders through the killing floor are well obscured, you know this because the assassin couldn’t tell you who his orders came from. But I found instances of data sent to Donovan in the _thousands_ , over and over again, with consistent frequency over the span of _years_.”

Charlie nodded slowly, realization dawning across her face.

“So whoever she is, she’s not just a one-time pawn. She’s a go-to, she’s in with the people giving the orders.”

“Yep, exactly. She might not be the answer, but she can certainly lead you to it. Here, it’s everything I have on her.” He slid a datastick across the table to her, which she quickly pocketed, excitement sparking through her. What he had to tell her next would dampen her excitement somewhat, he feared.

“And, Charlie… there’s one more thing. It’s not directly related, but… the Purity First attack at Milwaukee Junction. Van Bruggen had Sarif security codes, it’s how he was able to disable the building’s security lockdown and let the terrorists into the factoring labs. I figured the only way they could have obtained those codes was by breaching Sarif’s network security, and, well… that doesn’t make me look very good. So I started looking into it, scanning and checking and reinforcing all our security systems, and I found it. A backdoor, through our firewall. The reason I’d never detected it before is because it was opened by someone inside Sarif Industries.”

She might have only recently been under the employ of Sarif Industries, but that still struck her as very odd and very bad.

“Do you know who?”

“I know, but I’m not entirely sure you’ll believe it. The data signature came from David Sarif himself. And the backdoor was opened a few months before… before he hired Jensen. Charlie…. David hired a private investigator to dig up some serious dirt on Jensen. This is _way_ beyond a standard background check. He gave the investigator full access to Sarif’s systems, and… I poked around in David’s emails. This guy was looking into Jensen’s family, his childhood… like I said, _serious_ dirt.”

Suddenly her heart was pounding and her breath came short. She was completely bewildered, and a spark of rage on Adam’s behalf fired in her gut.

“Has he ever done this to any of his other employees?”

“No, never. Look, I know Jensen and I might not be the best of friends, but even I can say… he doesn’t deserve this. I would have come directly to him with it, but I don’t think he’d listen to me, he’d probably get angry and think I had something to do with it, I don’t know. He needs to know about this. He’ll listen to you.”

For a moment she chewed on her lip. Obviously Adam needed to know about this as soon as possible, but for some reason Charlie didn’t feel comfortable being the middleman for Pritchard’s important discovery. It felt too much like taking credit for something she didn’t do, and a waste of a very important opportunity. She struggled to find the right words, to pin down something tangible out of strange mixture of emotions that overtook her.

“You know the only reason why you two don’t get along is because you envy each other, right?”

He laughed a sardonic laugh, a scoff of absolute disbelief.

“ _Envy_ each other?! I don’t - what in the hell would Jensen have to envy about me?”  
  
“ _A lot_ , Frank. You still have control over your own life. Nobody’s used you as a science experiment yet. See, here’s the thing about Adam - people don’t involve him in his own life, in a major way. You’re doing the right thing here, and I understand that you two don’t particularly like each other. But I think you could, and I think you really might. You need to bring this to him yourself. If you want I’ll be there with you, to make sure he listens. But you found this, you dug it up. You bring it to him. Let him decide what he wants to do with it.”

Frank furrowed his brows, and she could see the wheels turning in his head. Of course he’d never thought about it like that before, he’d never considered the possibility. He was the nerd and Jensen was the dumb jock. They were fated to hate each other, and never had any reason not to. But Pritchard had never believed in fate. He believed in making his own way. His eyes narrowed and he regarded Charlie. He appreciated having his preconceptions challenged by someone he considered his peer, someone who appreciated him for who he was, someone who understood him well enough to call him out on things he didn’t even see. For the first time in years, he felt like it might be possible to see Jensen in a different light.

“We’re lucky to have you. All of us.”

“No. I’m the lucky one. Now - another round of Tekken, and don’t hold back!”

* * *

_Another one of these dreams. It was better, he supposed, than the nightmares. It was better than getting shot in the head and dying over and over and over again. It was better than reliving the shame and frustration of his firing from Detroit SWAT. But not by a large margin. These dreams didn’t push him painfully into a wakeful panic like the nightmares did. Instead they festered in the back of his mind, a quiet hulking mass, festering, rotting. They haunted him throughout the day. They came back to him in cryptic flashes at the most inopportune times. He knew they meant something, but he didn’t know what. At least the nightmares were straightforward._

_He was in the forest again, by the water. The lush emerald scenery was becoming so familiar - the common saying ‘like the back of his own hand’ didn’t apply here. The back of his own hand was foreign to him. He didn’t know when, if ever, that would change. The air was cool and crisp, and with the moon hanging fat like an overripe plum in the sky, he reclined against a moss-covered log with his head in the lap of the strange ethereal lightspun woman._

_Last time he was here, the machine in him was failing in the way that only machines could. The human body, a machine in it’s own strange way, was far less reliable - yet somehow a machine always carried the looming possibility of malfunction with it. His heart might fail but his hand wouldn’t be falling off by chips and wires. His hand - of course. He triggered the nerve impulse that would flex his fingers, expecting to see or feel nothing, empty air, a barren stump, phantom feeling lingering. He was so earnestly surprised by what he saw when he looked down - there was a hand, but it was neither flesh nor cybernetics. It was constructed of golden light, shimmering transparent, swirling with a galaxy’s worth of glittering iridescence - the same material that made up the body of the woman. His first thought was that she must have sacrificed some of herself to heal him - but when he looked up, she was whole, her form somehow more solid than before. His eyes returned to his new hand. He turned it over, made a fist. The woman stroked his forehead, cool and reassuring. She spoke again. He recognized the voice this time. It was Eliza Cassan._

**“AJ09-0921 Patient X”**

_She spoke with the pixelated voice of idealized serene femininity. He felt hairs rising on the back of his neck._

“DNA analysis of sample taken shows unusually high presence of mutagenic chemicals in the primary strand.”

_He felt sick, bile rising in his throat. Something was wrong, he didn’t know what, but every single cell in his body was rebelling, screaming, kicking._

“These don't appear to be harmful, however; in fact, X appears to be healthier and more resilient to infection than most subjects of a similar age and ethnic background. “

_He stumbled to his feet, slipping against the wet grass. He had to get out. The golden woman was changing, shifting, morphing. Through digital noise she began to flip through a thousand different forms, like a deck of cards, shuffling through an array of women of every age, race, and physical makeup. It slowed, ticking down like a slot machine, eventually cycling back and forth between two projections. One was a woman elegant, refined, brunette hair swept back against a ruffled collar, cheekbones high and eyes keenly intelligent. The other was a diminutive blonde in a leather jacket, messy hair and rosy cheeks like she’d just come in from the wind, beaming up at him from behind black-framed glasses. Just as one started to form completely, she melted away and the other took hold, until eventually they were overlapping, flickering into and over each other, mismatched parts melded together. She stuck on a phrase, repeating it over and over again like a skipping disc._

**“AJ09-0921 Patient X. AJ09-0921 Patient X. AJ09-0921 Patient X.”**

_In the distance, another scream. He woke up before he could turn to run._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> join me on [ tumblr ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com/)


	15. 10\15\27: light in the absence of eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _light in the absence of eyes illuminates nothing_

__

_The Cat & The Hound_

_10/15/27_  
20:34:18  
light in the absence of eyes 

_https://detroitfreepress.net/tym-hacks-sarif-industries_

_https://detroitfreepress.net/taggart-aide-sandoval-purity-first_

_Somehow I doubt you’ll see these stories on Picus. So here they are, now._

_You know, it used to baffle me that the news was able to be suppressed, that the media was something that could be controlled and spun. It seems like a pretty simple process to me, you know? Published by the media, consumed by the public. How many opportunities are there for that to get messed up by corruption and unbalanced scales of power? So many. I had no idea._

_The dragon was right. Nobody cares like I do. And now I know why. People, in general, won’t care about something unless it personally affects them. Even good people. If injustice doesn’t touch someone’s life directly, they just aren’t likely to care enough to do something about it. It’s not a bad thing - it’s just how the world is. There are no righteous crusaders who don’t have a personal stake in what they’re doing. I thought the truth was just really, really important to me. But no, I was wrong._

_It was personal. It always was. Liars took my mother from me for dishonesty’s sake, and everything I’ve done since then has been to try and get even. I was out for revenge, and I just didn’t realize it. I’d fooled myself in to thinking I was on some grand idealistic quest, that everything I was doing was for the Greater Good._

_No. It was all for me. I know that now. I’ve accepted it. And I feel stronger and more focused than ever because of it. Tai Young Medical hired career hackers to try and steal confidential prototypes from Sarif Industries. William Taggart’s personal aide has been funneling money and resources to Purity First, and working directly with terrorists. These things happened and they hurt someone I care about very much so now I’m out for blood. I can’t even say that figuratively anymore. Maybe I mean it literally now - and the way things are going, I wouldn’t be surprised. Someone has to pay. Not for some sort of idealogical assault on all that is good or just or whatever. But for hurting me and the people I love._

_I know it sounds weird, but I think mom would be proud of me, to hear me talking like this. She always told me I was too idealistic. And she was spiteful as anyone. She loved to get even. I had braces when I was a kid and I was bullied at school - she always told me to stand up, to fight back, that she wouldn’t be angry with me if I got in trouble for hitting someone. I never wanted to fight back. I just wanted to be left alone._

_Well, mom, I finally learned. I’m fighting back now._

__  



	16. Love means taking action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _veritas amara libertas_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Together Adam, Charlie, and Pritchard dig up some painful but important truths about Adam's past - both distant and recent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAHHHH!! i'm back with a new chapter! i have no idea why this one took me _so damn long_ to write, BUT. here it is, at long last, and i'm pretty in love with it.   
>  thanks again so, so, so, SO, SOOOOOOOOOOO infinitely much to ANYONE who has left kudos or commented or reached out to me on tumblr to say nice things about this fic. i earnestly can't tell you how much i appreciate it, from the bottom of my heart. i hope you all enjoy this chapter <3

 

Adam Jensen was, admittedly, not the most emotive man in the world.

The feelings were there, just… lurking much deeper below the surface than most people’s were.

She understood, of course. She always had. He’d been through so much. He felt, because he’d been shown repeatedly, that the world did not care about his emotions. He couldn’t stop himself from feeling - and he wouldn’t have, even if he could, though sometimes it was so tempting - but by and large he just didn’t bother with expressing himself. It was a waste of time - his own, and others.

The one emotion that always flowed freely from him, she noticed, was anger.

A laugh was not forthcoming, nor was a smile. Even sadness, disappointment barely showed themselves, the tiniest quirks in body language. But when he felt anger, it was… deafening. It seeped out of him and in to her. She felt it like a siren, an alarm blaring inside of her, a thing to be urgently remedied. His hurt was her hurt, and it filled her with genuine distress.

The three of them gathered in Adam’s office at Sarif HQ. Pritchard was bringing Adam his findings about the backdoor tunnel that Sarif had opened, and Charlie was there for emotional support, just like she promised. Even if Pritchard didn’t feel like he needed Jensen’s lover at his side for the man to take him seriously, Charlie was just as involved as any of them at this point.

Pritchard talked, and Charlie watched the anger bloom through Adam’s chest, like blood in water. Pritchard noticed too, and his eyes darted nervously towards Charlie. This was why he wanted her here. He wasn’t good at dealing with Jensen’s anger without throwing it back tenfold, and as much as he loved talking down to the man, even he knew that now wasn’t the time.

“You’re sure it was David who opened the backdoor?”

Pritchard opened his mouth, inhaling sharply.

“ _Of course_ I’m - “

He closed his mouth, exhaled, and pushed down the indignant outrage rising in his throat.

“Yes, Jensen, I’m sure. Every SI employee has a unique data signature. If it wasn’t him, it was someone with access to his computer, and nobody would have access to his computer unless he gave them explicit permission.”

Adam sat with his hands gripping the armrests on his desk chair. He would break them, surely. Pritchard was uneasy, swaying on his feet, fidgeting. Charlie was leaning against a file cabinet with her arms crossed, watching the men intently, sentinel. Adam turned to Charlie like he was seeking guidance, or reassurance. She didn’t know which direction he wanted to be assured in, though - that Pritchard was right, or that David would never do something like that. One was true.

“Frank’s right, Adam.” She spoke softly. “David did it. I saw the signature myself.”

His brows furrowed, and he brought a gleaming black hand to his forehead. Pritchard felt a compulsion to explain himself more thoroughly, and kept talking.

“At first I thought he must have had a reason. After Mexicantown, and with Megan recommending you… a background check made sense. But we have an official system for that. An entire human resources department. Why not go through proper channels? Why spend his own money on a private detective when he didn’t have to? Something about this is _wrong_ , Jensen. I just… thought you needed to know.”

Adam was quiet. He wasn’t ready to react in full, yet. Charlie sensed it, and offered guidance.

“Do you want to talk to David about this?” she asked gently.

His answer was a rather emphatic _no_. Charlie and Pritchard exchanged a glance.

“We didn’t think so.” Pritchard stepped forward, a datapad in his hands. “Here… I gleaned everything I could from David’s emails. The detective he hired was named Brent Radford. All the information you’d need to find him is in here. Do with it what you will.”

With a soft metallic snap, Adam took the datapad from Pritchard. The hacker stood for a moment - he felt like there was more to say, more to do. But he knew there wasn’t. With a breath and a _well, alright then_ , he turned and left Adam’s office.

“I’m with you on this, Adam. If you want to look into this. I would understand if you didn’t.”

He was sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees, the datapad clasped firmly in both hands. He ran his polymer thumb across the beveled edge of the glass screen. Electronic sensors registered his touch, and liquid crystals bloomed into life, the screen springing alight in pale digital blue. It cast a strange light on his face, from below. When he looked up at her, the bags under his eyes were more pronounced than ever.

“You know I do. I have to.”

 

* * *

 

They found Brent Radford at the address Pritchard provided, in a dilapidated apartment building in the slums of Detroit. They were paces down the hall when they realized Radford’s apartment door was already open - wide open. They slowed and drew themselves against the wall instinctively.

“You think David found out and tipped him off?”

“No,” Charlie answered, voice hushed and eyes thin with worry. “Frank would never leave a trace, he’s better than that. Something’s going on here.”

Three suited thugs awaited them in Radford’s apartment. The first was watching the door, facing it head-on as Charlie and Adam came in to view. The both saw alarm register in his eyes, but Charlie was fast with her stun gun. Before he could alert the other men, he was unconscious on the floor. In the front room of Radford’s apartment, the remaining two suits were ransacking the place. They were searching for something. Adam strode into the room, head down, determined. The nearest man was ripping open couch cushions - Adam brought his fist crashing into the man’s jaw. Normally a right hook wouldn’t be enough to knock a man clean out, but a right hook coming from a man with cybernetically enhanced superstrength was. As the first man fell to the ground, the second turned from where he was upending a bookshelf. He was reaching for the gun holstered beneath his shoulder as Adam firmly gripped the sides of his head and snapped his neck. More than ever, Adam and Charlie moved as one unit with a ruthless sort of efficiency.

Deeper inside the apartment, they found a man slumped against the bathroom wall, bleeding out on the tile. He looked to be in his late forties, but he also seemed to look much older than he actually was - worn down and out, rough from the edges in. His left eye was swollen bloody black, his nose clearly broken, but the worst of his injuries seemed to be coming from below his jacket. He clutched his side, blood leaking through his fingers, and looked up wearily at the intruders as they approached. His eyes were glazed over, unfocused from pain and blood loss, but recognition flashed through his face.

“J-Jensen?” he coughed. “Christ.”

Charlie was kneeling on the ground next to the man in an instant, sticky-warm blood seeping through her jeans.

"Radford? You're hurt, bad. Do you have a medkit around here anywhere?"

"Living room," he coughed. "Behind the bookshelf."

Adam retrieved the medkit, and Charlie stayed at Radford's side. She reached into the man's jacket to try and determine the source of the injuries. The detective hissed and swatted her hand away.

"Leave it, Pollyanna," he groaned. "No offense, but without proper medical training you'll just make it worse. Listen... I know why you're here. I know what you want. There's some... some morphine in there. Give me a shot so I can think through the pain and I'll tell you what you need to know. Then we can deal with this," he wheezed "situation."

Charlie looked over her shoulder at Adam, and he nodded. Charlie had given her mom neuropozyne shots a thousand times - she knew what to do. She pulled a syringe out of the medkit and pushed Radford's sleeve up. His nerves were flooded with opiates and he leaned his head back with a jagged sigh.

"Brent Radford. Do you know who I am?" Adam spoke low and slow, taking a knee at Radford's other side. His cop training was kicking in again. He'd had to glean information from quite a few fresh trauma victims in his day. He knew what to do.

"Yeah," Radford chuckled bitterly. "I know who you are. Better than you do, Jensen."

Adam paused, confused. He moved on, a little uneasier than before.

"Who were those men, and what were they looking for?"

"Whoever they were. they were professionals. They're after... they're after my storage locker... the safe... combination. Everything... all the dirt I dug up on you is there. I don't know why these fucking suits are so interested in you, Jensen, but I shouldn't be surprised. They've been after you your whole life.Your parents, y-your real parents... the tests... the fire... what are you, Jensen? Some kind of..." a wet cough tore through Radford. "Some kind of freak?"

Charlie's stomach turned. She turned to look at Adam. He was still as stone.

"What do you mean, his _real_ parents? What tests, what fire?"`

Before Radford could answer, Jensen cut in with another line of questioning.

" _They've_ been after me? Who are _they_?"

"You wouldn't-you wouldn't believe me, even if I told you. Hell, I still don't believe it. Do you... do you believe in ghosts, Jensen?"

"Ghosts?" Adam echoed. Charlie furrowed her brows. The morphine was making Radford delusional. They wouldn't get anything useful out of him.

"Yeah. Ghosts. Some things I never... I never thought I would believe in. Illuminati... conspiracy theories... it's all bullshit. Right? I thought so too until... until I took that job from Sarif. Until I saw... your life, Jensen. Things I can't explain, can't understand. It's all over you, robot."

It felt like the air was sucked out of the room. A thousand times Charlie and Adam had been met with a faceless 'they' in their search for answers. Zhao had said it. Eliza had said it. Sandoval had said it. But nobody could tell them who 'they' were. It was the first time they'd heard the word. Illuminati. They looked at each other, communicating wordlessly in an instant. Neither wanted to believe it, but both felt some sort of dawn upon them. Radford continued.

"They came to kill me just... just for the dirt I had on you. Just for looking. You're dangerous, Jensen. A death sentence. You're a ghost... a fucking tragedy. Everything you touch, everything that touches you... dies."

Neither Adam nor Charlie would forget those words for a long, long time. Truthfully Adam had been fighting for many days with this gnawing feeling that he was putting Charlie in danger just by existing in her life. The closer they got to finding Megan the more strongly he felt that he couldn't handle ever again being responsible for something like this. He cared about Charlie in ways that were surprising and frightening and confusing. It was for this reason that he wanted to protect her by distancing her, but he was... selfish. He was weak. He needed her in a way that felt like beyond choice. She kept the dark at bay. She made him feel... safe. Accepted. _Human_. He couldn't be without her but being with her meant he might have to be without her forever and he was torn in a thousand different ways about it in every waking moment.

For Charlie, she would always remember it as the first moment she realized. Kneeling on someone else's bathroom floor covered in blood next to a dying man. She'd been dancing around it for so long for propriety’s sake though she'd _felt_ it a thousand times she'd convinced herself it was too soon, too crazy, illogical, unhealthy. It was at that moment that the words first formed distinctly in her mind, the first time she'd dared to even think it to herself. _I love him._ It hit her like a tidal wave, and she was overwhelm by the sheer force of it.

Radford's eyes traveled slowly between the two and then rolled back into his head as his body was ravaged with pain once more.

"Jesus, you two, stop making eyes at each other. Give me more morphine and fucking _focus_."

Charlie administered the second shot, and Adam scrubbed his hand across his face.

"You mentioned a storage locker? Where is it, what's in it, and why did those men want it?"

"Everything," Radford groaned. "All the files. Fucking baby pictures. Information. On Michelle... fuck. You have to find her. Find her before they do."

"Michelle? Who is she?"

"Your guardian angel, Jensen. Tell me... do robots... do robots even believe in angels? Or did they take that... did they take that away from you, too? You know, your... your soul? Did they take that out of you... when they built you? Tell me... what was it like... when you died, Jensen?"

He was slipping - blood loss and drugs clouding his mind. Charlie grit her teeth.

"God dammit, Radford! Quit with the cryptic shit. Give us a straight answer. Who is Michelle?"

The detective turned his gaze towards Charlie with a wicked grin.

"You found..." his breath hitched, catching on his injuries. "You found the only girl with enough of a... death wish.... to stand by you. She'll die for it, too, like... like everyone else. Shame. She ain't bad lookin'. You need to find Michelle before they do. You... you owe her that. She saved you when... when you were a baby. She can tell you about it. The labs, the... the fire. Your parents. The storage locker. _Go._ "

Adam nodded slowly, almost resigned.

"I'm calling an ambulance and we're leaving."

Radford moved like he was trying to get up, trying to stop them, but couldn't. Even still, the look in his eyes was clear enough. He objected to that, greatly, for some reason.

" _No_ … those fuckin’ animals… I… I can’t move anything. I was turning around, pulling my gun… when… when the first bullet hit me. The second one… the-they fuckin’ pa-paralyzed me."

"Yes," Charlie blinked. "That's... why we're calling an ambulance. A doctor can help you."

"I ain’t turning into no freak! Even if I could afford the surgery… the augments… I’d rather die than be half a m-machine. And I sure as hell… ain’t gonna live the rest of my life… in a wheelchair! Shittin’ in a god damned diaper!"

Charlie was losing her patience and had been for a while, but this was too far. She was confused and frightened - something strange was going on with Adam _personally_ and she the closer they got to an answer the worse it looked - and for Radford, bleeding out and paralyzed, to say he'd rather die than become augmented... she rolled her eyes and laughed bitterly.

"I've known a lot of men like you, Radford, but none of them were willing to die in service to their bigotry and I don't think you really are either. We're calling an ambulance, and you'll accept whatever life-saving medical care they give you."

Radford inhaled and spat blood at her feet.

"Don't act like... like you f-fuckin' know me, little girl." Radford turned his attention over Charlie's shoulder. He was speaking directly to Adam. "He knows. He... he understands. Listen. I know there’s still a few more morphine shots… another two… should do… should do the trick. Please… this is as close as I’m gonna get… to beggin’ you. Don’t leave me… like this. You owe me-that much."

She turned to look over her shoulder, and saw a black hand gleaming in the low light, unfurling and reaching for the medkit.

" _Adam_ ," she whispered. "You aren't actually considering euthanizing him, are you?"

He'd had his shades drawn the entire conversation but she could feel his wheels turning, a deliberate thoughtfulness dark and heavy, solemn weighed down by pain. He spoke slowly, gently.

"He has a choice... a choice I never had."

Her heart leapt to her throat and then plummeted down to the pit of her stomach. How many times would she feel this very particular emotion? How many times would her heart break for him, because of him? Radford was right and maybe Charlie had known it for a long time too but it was becoming more and more apparent as time went on. Adam Jensen _was_ a tragedy.

"And? Would you have chosen differently?" She couldn't keep the horror out of her voice. "Are you telling me you'd rather be _dead_ right now?"

Not that long ago, the answer would have been a resounding _yes_ , with virtually no hesitation. He'd lost everything in the attack on SI labs - how could he be expected to feel good about being alive after that? He was a quadruple amputee with PTSD, four new weaponized cybernetic limbs fused to what little remained of his flesh, a dead ex-girlfriend who he'd been carrying a torch for, and a drinking problem. He stayed alive for duty, and justice - not because he wanted to. He looked at Charlie, kneeling across from him covered in another man's blood just like when he'd met her. It wasn't the first time he realized how drastically things were changing in her light, but it was perhaps the time it hit him the hardest. She was just like him - lost, lonely, and on a crusade - and somehow the two of them had found each other at precisely the time in their lives when they had absolutely nothing or no-one else. She'd already seen so much of him and against all odds she hadn't left yet - she was _there_ for him, she cared about him, and didn't seem to want anything from him which was strange. And she was helping him, _so much_ , just to feel like a fucking _person_ again, every time they made love he felt a little more human and there was no way he could overstate the importance of that. Everything was different, now, because of her. He retracted his lenses and looked her in the eyes like a man who'd just had a revelation.

" _No_ , that's not... I wouldn't have chosen differently."

For an intense moment she held his gaze. She'd always been intuned to his emotions, as hard to detect as they might be, and she felt distinctly the conclusion he'd come to. A tearful nod, and she turned her attention back to Radford.

"Listen, Radford, I know you're a straight-shooter so I'm not gonna beat around the bush with you. You're being an idiot. You could _die_. Is your arm what makes you a human being? If someone chops off your arm, do you cease to be a person? Do you stop having thoughts, emotions, free will, a soul? My own mother had her live saved by augmentations. We had many more wonderful years together than we would have had without them, and I have some of my best memories of her from that time. She was more human, more alive, than ever."

When Adam next spoke, his voice sounded different than Charlie had ever heard it sound before. Lighter, softer, like it was easier to speak, easier to breathe.

"She's right. Becoming augmented, it... it wasn't something I ever wanted, or asked for. And it's been hard, it's been _so_ hard. But at the end of the day, I'm still alive. And that's worth anything."

He looked at Charlie.

"Life can change in an instant, it can... take you by surprise. But not if you're dead. Living through adversity, living for those surprises, is what makes us human. It’s not flesh and blood, or even bone, that defines us. I might be more machine than flesh, but I’m still alive. I’m still human. And I'm glad for it."

For a moment, Radford was silent. His eyes traveled between Adam and Charlie and his breath was labored, jagged, wet. Then, he softened.

"Fuckin' hell. The two of you, together...you paint a pretty goddamn picture. Alright, fine. I’ll play along with this little after school special you got going on here. I’ll get through this. But not-not because of this… bullshit charade you lovebirds have going on. You're luckier than most of us - no, I can't... I can't expect that. I’ll live for the truth… for revenge. Whoever hired those suits… I’m going after those sons of bitches."

Charlie took Radford's bloodied hand and squeezed it. Under any other circumstances he would've protested, but he was paralyzed and at this particular moment not above the comfort of a reassuring touch.

"That's something we can both understand," she said with a bitter little smile.

"Whatever procedures you need will be paid for in full by Sarif Industries. It's our fault this happened to you."

"Yeah, it's the least you can do. And Jensen. I don’t know how bad you think your wounds were… but, your boss… your friend, Sarif. They butchered you. Went too far… with the operation. You were an experiment. A test… but he’s the one that made you a weapon. _Heh_. Almost makes me feel bad for you… almost."

Adam deployed his lenses again and set his mouth in a hard line. He should have been surprised by that, but... he wasn't. He called the ambulance, and he and Charlie left to find the storage locker.

On the way, she slowed her pace slightly to fall behind him and pulled out her commlink. She quickly composed a message to Pritchard.

[blackc4t]  
We're on the trail. But do me a favor real quick?

[nucl3arsnake]  
what do you need?

[blackc4t]  
any information on Adam's surgery you can find. Dig through SI files - and maybe check Detroit LIMB clinics? literally anything, nothing is too insignificant.

[nucl3arsnake]  
I'm on it. everything okay?

[blackc4t]  
maybe. I’ll let you know. send me anything you find as soon as you find it. thanks. xoxo

 

* * *

 

He’d endured so much recently. He should have been numbed completely, and he wasn’t… he wasn’t weak by any means. But he was still human, despite the metal, despite what people like Radford and Taggart thought of him. He still hurt and he still had his limits. He would remember those next few hours, the remainder of that evening, as one of the hardest things he’d ever had to endure. It was blow after blow, emotional gut-punches, a thousand times worse than any physical pain. He’d take getting shot in the head again over this. The only thing that got him through it was _her_. At his side. If he had any doubts, they were gone after that night. She was invaluable to him.

She was there with him in the storage locker, just like she’d been with him in another storage locker weeks before reading Megan’s autopsy. Now Megan was back from the dead and somehow this was even worse. Emails on Radford’s computer, all damning. In the span of a few minutes, Adam found out that he was adopted and had never been told, that Megan was somehow involved with all this, and that the trail led very clearly back to something called _White Helix_. Dumbfounded, Adam stood with a datapad, from Radford’s safe, in his hands as Charlie recounted the contents of the emails to him. She was glad she got to see them before he did - she could soften the blow this way, she hoped. Like these words would hurt less spoken in her voice than they would read off a computer screen. She was right - but a mitigated shock was a shock nonetheless. He handed her the datapad, and her stomach dropped as she read it.

_TWISTED CEDER, MICHIGAN (PNN) - At 04:36AM on July 18 Firefighters were called to White Helix Labs to fight an early morning blaze. By the time they arrived, the main building was already engulfed in flames._  
_General Manager Michael Berris could not be reached for comment, but a pre-recorded message had been left on White Helix Lab's toll-free line, stating that nobody is believed to have been hurt in the fire. That message was later removed when firefighters began pulling bodies from the wreckage._  
_"The recovery operations are currently ongoing," Fire Chief Minnie Hawkins told reporters, but also stated that the circumstances behind the blaze are "very suspicious."_  
_White Helix Labs, a subdivisionary of Versalife, is a bioresearch firm, studying childhood genetic deceases._

They found Michelle Walther’s address and left the storage unit. Charlie maintained a close proximity to Adam, physically - he was trying to keep it together but she could tell that he was not doing well. And who would be, after that? Just shy of holding his hand she kept herself close at his side as they walked, let him feel her warmth radiating through jackets and the biting cold of this particular Detroit night. _I’m here_ , she seemed to tell him. _Don’t forget. You’re not alone. I’m here_. He smoked a cigarette in silence, a thousand distraught questions running through his mind - first and foremost, _why?_

Michelle Walthers lived alone, in a modest apartment. She was sweet, senile, and clearly sick by the oxygen tanks that cluttered her living room. It was heart-wrenching to speak with her, in the way it always is to speak with elderly people with deteriorated mental facilities. If she had known Adam in the past, she didn’t recognize him now, and in fact mistook him for her meal delivery service. In Radford’s safe, there had been some photos of Adam as a child. Upon being given the photos, Michelle lit up, and was more than happy to talk about little Adam Jensen. It was very fitting, and not strange at all, that a senile old woman _finally_ helped them connect the dots after the rest of the world had given them the runaround.

She told them everything. White Helix was a laboratory, owned by Versalife, that operated during the early 1990s. Publicly, it was a research facility for childhood genetic diseases. Privately, it performed gene therapy experiments on child subjects. Michelle, Adam’s biological parents, and Adam’s adoptive parents were all employees of White Helix. Adam was one of those child subjects, and he was… special. In what way, Michelle couldn’t say, exactly, but… he was. Whatever experiments they were performing, whatever the goal - Adam was a success. But the scientists could no longer stomach the unethical experiments they performed. Adam was a sweet boy, she said, and they all grew attached to him. They all wanted to protect him, and to keep any other children from going through the same thing. Adam’s biological parents torched the labs. They burned it to the ground, all of it - and they both died in the fire. They both sacrificed themselves. If White Helix died with them, it was worth it. Michelle rescued Adam and the other children, and brought Adam to the Jensens. They couldn’t conceive a child naturally, and were having no luck adopting, as Adam’s adoptive mother suffered from clinical depression and was deemed an unfit parent by every single adoption agency. Adam’s biological parents died knowing they did something good for the world, and their son would be taken in by a family who would love and cherish him. Adam’s mom had always called him her angel - now he understood why.

They thanked Michelle and left. Adam let her keep the pictures - she seemed enthralled with this memory of young Adam Jensen, like he was her very own grandchild, and Adam had no desire to ever look at those photos ever again. The child in them looked so innocent, so happy. He had no idea. Even then, the world was playing a joke on him. From birth he’d never been anything more than an experiment, a test subject, a guinea pig. He balled his hands up into fists and felt his cybernetic myomer muscles tense and release, stretching and bunching. He felt repulsed, disgusted. He wanted to tear the limbs off. Even then, even as nothing more than a disembodied torso, he _still_ wouldn’t be free from the prying invasive touch of others. He never would. It was in his DNA. He would always have some trace of his abusers within him. He would never be his own man.

This time, she did hold his hand. He was in a daze - he needed to be led. He didn’t even remember how he got home, but he blinked and there he was, inside the moody amber-spun sanctuary of his own apartment. For a moment, panic flared in his chest - the walls felt oppressive, the darkness suffocating, the coming home a sort of foreboding indicator of being still when he wanted to run. But then she was there, hands soft on his shoulders as she took his coat and hung it near the door. The gentle chime of ice on glass as she poured him a drink, whiskey four fingers high. He fumbled at his lighter - his hands felt new again, clumsy, unresponsive. He’d spent months in physical therapy relearning how to move his fingers, how to use his hands, and he’d forgotten it all in an instant. She saw him struggling and took the lighter from him, flicking the lid open and clicking the wheel deftly, her natural hands taking on an otherworldly sort of elegance while his mechanical hands sat worthless ineffectual hunks of metal in his lap. Flame leapt to light below his eyes, and he heard the soft crackle and buzz of tobacco and paper burning. Incineration. It felt good, more than ever, at this particular moment. He drew his focus in on it, let himself become absorbed in the moment, the action. Solid mass eaten by fire, obliterated from existence, swallowed up in empty air. He inhaled, hot smoke filling his lungs, warmth blooming through his chest. It was dark save the ambient city light leaking in from outside, and the ember at the tip of his cigarette dancing between his face and Charlie’s.

He looked up at her - face halfway obscured by shadow and a gentle curtain of white-gold wisps, lighter still in her hand lingering like a lover’s touch, and he was brought back to the very first time he’d met her. Before Megan was brought back from the dead, before he’d learned that his entire life had been a farce, a game orchestrated by others. Back then, he’d been struck by the powerful glow of ineffable good-heartedness and pure intention that seemed to radiate from her like sunshine. He’d seen it in action for months, he’d felt her warmth on his skin constantly there in some capacity even when she wasn’t in the foreground, even when he didn’t realize. Now, he was blinded by it. The rest of his world was crumbling away and she was the only thing still standing, immutable and unshakeable and steadfastly there. Some sort of strangled sound escaped his throat as he reached for her, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in close, burying his face in her chest. His cigarette lay forgotten burning out in an ashtray. As natural as breathing, almost an involuntary reflex, her arms came up around him. Cradling his head, enveloping his shoulders, fingers grasping at hair and shirt like she was trying to bring his body in to hers and shield him from things that had already happened. Like if she held him tight enough she could undo it all. She knew she couldn’t. She would try anyway, as hard as she could, for as long as she could. She bowed her head over his, closed her eyes, and sat in the moment with him, sharing his pain.

The riots started that night. Rumors that Sarif Industries was building mechanically augmented supersoldiers, fanned by Picus and Humanity Front, reached a fever pitch and exploded. Outside Adam’s windows, many stories below on the cold streets of Detroit, the city burned. Inside, Adam took solace in Charlie. She lay awake with him most of the night, a comforting presence, a gentle hand on his forehead, and words of empathetic reassurance when words became necessary. _What happened to you was wrong. Nobody should have to go through that. I’m so sorry._ And he knew those things, of course he did, it wasn’t that he ever doubted them but hearing someone else affirm, validate, support… it did something. It was strange. He was hurting but he wasn’t desolate. He was in the dark but there was a light in the distance. He was lost to the waves but not drowning, his head above water and he knew he could swim to shore. Eventually he drifted into a shallow, resigned sort of sleep, curled up against her side. Her commlink had been pinging all night but she’d ignored it - she wasn’t about to divert her attention away from Adam, especially not at a time like this. Now that he was asleep, she kept one hand on his chest, her thumb idly stroking the place where metal fused to flesh, and checked her messages.

  
[nucl3arsnake]  
found something on the LIMB network. forwarding this email to you

  
-ATTACHED FILE-  
Notes: AJ09-0921  
FROM KARIM FONG, MD  
TO VERA MARCOVIC, MD  
JENSEN, Adam  
AJ09-0921  
Blood O RhD negative  
No allergies  
Family history unknown (adopted age 5, no papers)  
Has demonstrated healing ability greater than 2 standard deviations above the mean in the following: speed of recovery, repossession of faculties, post-traumatic memory retention.  
Unusually large quantities of NGF appearing around implantation sites. Unique auto-immune disorder? May indicate he will not require neuropozyne injections anytime soon?  
One previous operation, 6 months ago, life-critical, requiring full replacement of chest cavity and left arm; right arm and legs replaced at behest of employer, authority granted under terms of employment contract.  
Recovery speed being unknown at the time, patient was also prefitted with PEDOT biochips in all areas of possible neuroprosthetic insertion, to reduce need for physiotherapy following any subsequent enhancement surgeries.

  
[nucl3arsnake]  
two things - apparently Jensen doesn’t actually NEED neuropozyne. as far as I’m aware, he’s the first person on the planet who doesn’t.

  
[nucl3arsnake]  
they must be keeping this under wraps for some reason because you and I both know Jensen is still taking his pozy shots and this is a huge, HUGE deal.

  
[nucl3arsnake]  
also, do you see that last little bit there, towards the end? I skimmed past it the first time. Had to read it twice. Jensen only really needed to have his left arm and chest cavity augmented. The rest was voluntary, only he never volunteered himself. Sarif did it for him. now i’m wondering if i have the same sort of clause in my employment contract. maybe we all do. this is big time messed up, charlie.

  
Charlie blinked, and the words on the screen swam in front of her eyes. A horrible pit opened up inside her, like a great hellish maw taking her in it’s jaws and dragging her down. She couldn’t believe what she was reading. It was beyond the pale. It was an insane infraction on Adam’s free will and bodily autonomy. Her stomach churned, nausea beating against her insides. How could David do this? How could anyone do this? She remember the David Sarif she knew, who saved her mother’s life and changed her world for the better. It didn’t seem right - it didn’t seem like it could even be the same man. She looked at Adam - eyes closed so his eyelashes cast a shadow on the top of his cheeks, gleaming black hands curled together and drawn in close to his chest which rose and fell in soft rhythm, still so obviously not at peace even in sleep - and felt a knife tear through her heart.

  
[blackc4t]  
thanks, frank. i appreciate your help. i’m gonna get to the bottom of this.

  
She set her commlink face down and wrapped herself around Adam, burying her face into his hair to stem her own tears.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Adam stayed home to rest and Charlie returned to Sarif Industries HQ. _I have some work to do there, I’ll be back by afternoon._ It wasn’t technically a lie. She could never lie to him, not even a little white lie like that, after what she’d learned. He was more than happy to stay home and sleep more - once he’d fallen into it he was loathe to get out, and he certainly needed the rest. He was exhausted so far beyond physical - to his bones, to his soul. She kissed him a sleepy goodbye and left him with a pot of coffee brewing for when he woke up.

Daylight after the riots brought relative calm. It always did. She found SI surrounded by a handful of protesters with signs and a moderate police presence - but no angry mobs. No shouting, no firebombs, no rubber bullets or tear gas. The remnants from last night’s riots were clear, though. The streets were lined with broken glass and char marks. She squinted against the harsh, cold morning light, and her breath came out in visible puffs above wind-stung red cheeks and nose. With a determined stride and her head down, she shouldered her way through the crowds up concrete stairs ornamented with sleek glass statues to the entrance of SI.

Nobody spared her a second glance as she made her way through the offices. She’d been spending more time here now that she was working for Sarif even in a small capacity, dividing her time between Jensen’s office and Pritchard’s office. As she loved them, she’d grown to love the place, but now her view of it was soured. Once, she’d been filled with awe and hope, being in this place. Now she looked around and couldn’t help but wonder how many men like Adam it was built on the backs of. Outrage rose in her throat, bitter and sharp. She passed Pritchard’s office on her way up - she was rushing by, clearly on a mission, but they locked eyes through his open door for just an instant and somehow he _knew_ what she was doing. He gave her an affirming nod, and returned to his work.

Charlie was in David’s office before Athene even had a chance to look up from her desk. David was clearly in the middle of something - to be expected, in the wake of controversy and riots - and was genuinely surprised to see her. They had a good relationship, but she wasn’t prone to privately visiting him often. He was good enough at reading people to know that she was angry right off the bat - and she was good enough at reading people to see him go on the defensive before she even opened her mouth.

“Charlie.” It was a statement, not a question. He acknowledged her, regarded her up and down. An old negotiation trick. Make them feel acknowledged. Make them feel heard. “What are you doing here? You should be at home. We sent out an email. It’s too dangerous - essential personnel only.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. She wasn’t going to let him run her around, play her like he played everyone else.

“I came to ask you some questions, David. About a man named Brent Radford.”

He was trying not to react. She could tell. But he tensed and narrowed his eyes ever-so-slightly.

“We know, David. We have proof. Your emails. And we talked to Brent himself. There’s no point in trying to lie your way out of this one. I just want to ask you about it.”

David strolled out from behind his desk and crossed his arms.

“I have to wonder how you had access to my emails,” he challenged.

“Your employees, doing their jobs,” she shot back. She wouldn’t throw Pritchard under the bus. “Any other deflections you want to try and get in before you can give me some straight answers?”

His face softened slightly.

“What do you want to know?”

She saw her opening, and took it.

“Why did you do it? You don’t hire a PD to dig into the life history of every one of your employees. Why him? Why Jensen?”

Sarif picked up one of the many baseballs scattered around his office and began tossing it lightly from his left hand to his right - from flesh to mech, the movement fluid, the grip identical. Affected causality.

“After his dismissal from SWAT, you have to understand. He was a liability.”

Charlie drew up her shoulders and clenched her fists. She expected this, but she wasn’t buying it, and it was pissing her off way more than she’d expected it would.

“So why was Radford digging around in his childhood? His parents? What does that have to do with his dismissal from SWAT?”

He wasn’t prepared for her persistence. He’d always had an image of Charlie as a quiet, good-natured girl who would never get angry even when she was well in her rights to. He should’ve seen this coming when Adam brought her in from Milwaukee Junction. She had a spark even then, the smallest seed of rebellion. David cursed his own desire to seek out highly intelligent individuals. Intelligence so often came with stubborn individuality and defiance. Part of his job was striking the unique balance between quelling that, and encouraging it. He projected authority as much as he could.

“I was told it might be… relevant.”

Her eyes widened. The introduction of another presence, an outside party.

“ _Told_? By _who_? Was it Megan? We found her emails on Radford’s computer, too. How is she involved in all of this?”

He couldn’t hide his reaction then, and it was all she needed to know. Megan _was_ the one who had told David there was even something to look for. The extensive investigation was spurred by her. But why? How did she know? Charlie felt the room spinning around her. It was bad enough being lied to and betrayed by his boss who Adam admired, but if Megan was somehow in on it, too…her heart was pounding, raw panic surging in her chest. She began backing out of David’s office slowly, shaking her head in horror, and once she’d cleared the door she turned and ran.

 _“Charlie!”_ David shouted after her, leaning over his desk. Dammit. He knew where she was going. With a sigh he stood upright and straightened his vest, following her at an unhurried stroll.

SI labs were still under construction, still being renovated after the attack six months ago. The wing was deserted save construction workers, a hollow dusty ghost town of tarps and broken glass and work lights. There were still bloodstains on the ground in spots. Silence pressed against the walls, the same kind of silence that fills the air when it’s snowed outside, punctuated by the pounding of her own heart and drills in the distance.

Her feet carried her to Megan’s office. She didn’t know how she knew where it was. She didn’t even stop to question it. It felt like something was nipping at her heels, breathing down her neck. She felt urgency through her every fiber, so loud it was unbearable, and she knew it wouldn’t quiet until she had answers. Answers she would find in Megan’s office.

It was untouched, still, like someone knew Megan was coming back and didn’t want to disturb any of her things. Megan’s office was exactly how she’d left it - papers and files still strewn across every surface, thinscreen diagrams of augmented limbs hanging from the ceiling dormant and dark. Charlie’s lungs constricted and her breath came short. She saw the woman everywhere. A thousand ghosts filled the dimly lit office, not just of Megan herself but of every moment she shared with Adam in this place, good or bad. Charlie felt staggered under the weight of them, and moved through the office like she was moving through quicksand.

Methodically, she combed through all the information she could find in Megan’s office. She turned her computer on, blew the dust off of it, hacked it easily and scanned her emails. She thumbed through the racks of files on the wall and in file cabinets, passing her eyes over them quickly for any relevant information. She learned about Megan’s research, about how monumental her discovery was, and about her fears and anxieties over the source of her breakthrough. It was then that the first stone dropped in Charlie’s gut. She was beginning to piece it all together and she felt sick. Frantically, she searched through the rest of the office, looking for something to prove her wrong rather than prove her right.  
There was a datapad sitting on the sofa to the far side of the room. Her vision narrowed on it like it was a sign, like she knew that was _it,_ and she rushed over to it. She sat down and activated the screen. The words blurred as tears welled in her eyes.

AJ09-0921 Patient X  
-S: M  
-A: 32  
-blood O RhD negative  
NOTES:  
DNA analysis of sample taken shows unusually high presence of mutagenic chemicals in the primary strand. These don't appear to be harmful, however; in fact, X appears to be healthier and more resilient to infection than most subjects of a similar age and ethnic background. (Although admittedly, this is based on personal observation only. Access to X's medical files and history is not possible at this time.)  
More interesting to note, however, is what these chemicals do when isolated and introduced to the PEDOT-cluster. In less than 24 hours, artificial materials within the cluster have been completely encapsulated in a thick, semi-permeable coating of Subject's OWN neural tissue. In effect, the "invaders" are being "disguised" as part of Subject's nervous system!  
Tests have yet to be concluded, but it is my belief that PEDOT-clusters built with this unique DNA signature will be undetectable to the human immune system. The bond between what is nervous system and what is external device will be blurred to such an extent that no glial tissue build-up will occur. Neuropozyne may no longer be needed! 

“Charlie.”

A soft voice from the doorway. She turned, tears streaming down her face. David stood with one hand in his pocket and the other against the doorframe. By the look on his face, he could tell he was too late.

“Is this him?” she sniffled. “Is he Patient X?”

A pause, and a reluctant answer.

“Yes.”

She inhaled sharply and turned her head away, a sob bubbling up her throat.

“Is this what they did to him at White Helix?”

“Yes.”

“And you and Megan both knew?”

He walked over to her with his hands clasped like a father who was having to explain death to his child.

“Yes. He was the basis of her research. He provided us with this phenomenal discovery - what Megan was going to present in Washington, before the attack.”

“And he doesn’t know? About any of this?”

“Well, he knows about some of it now, thanks to you.”

There was a smirk in his voice. He thought this was funny, and that was exactly the problem. Her skin burned, her mouth twisted into a snarl, she pulled her body away from him subconsciously.

“You _used_ him. Both of you.”

“Yes, Charlie. We used him. To advance modern science and change the future of mankind.”

She shook her head.

“Megan told you that he wouldn’t reject augmentations, and so you put that clause in his employment contract. And then after the attack you used him as a guinea pig, you pumped him full of metal… why? Just to see what would happen? Because you knew you could?”

He was being called out. He didn’t like that - especially when he was being called out on something that was legitimate, something that he knew was wrong. Anger flared in his eyes, and he raised his voice.

“I saved his life, Charlie!”

She shot up from the couch, the datapad falling to the ground. If he was angry, she was furious. She stood with her legs apart and her fists clenched at her side, glaring up at him.

“I saw files from the LIMB clinic, David! He only needed surgery on his left arm and chest cavity to survive. That’s all he needed to save his life. You did the rest, for no reason. He was just an experiment to you.”

“Can you blame me? Besides, beggars can’t really be choosers, can they?”

  
He was trying to charm, diffuse her anger with a self-depreciating joke. It had the opposite effect. It only made her angrier. She scrubbed her hand across her face and shook her head, taking a step back like she earnestly couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“You have no idea, David. You have no idea how _different_ his life would be, if you didn’t _mutilate_ him like that. You have no idea what he goes through every single day. You didn’t fix him - you broke him. And it was unavoidable? You could have told him, you and Megan. You could have been there for him, helped him, supported him. And maybe he would have worked with you willingly. Maybe he wouldn’t have - but that’s his choice to make. You took that away from him. You didn’t… you didn’t have to do it like that.”

Her voice was thick with tears, and David did feel genuinely bad.

“Why are you doing this, Charlie? Do you just want to keep him away from Megan?”

“That’s _low_ , David,” she hissed. “But even if I were - so what? Yeah, maybe I care about him and want to keep him from going back to someone who would do that to him.”

“I just don’t understand what you think telling him would have done. What it would do now. The truth doesn’t change anything that happened to him. All it would do is hurt him. You want to cause him more pain?”

“You don’t get it, David!” Her voice grew shrill. If he could shout, so could she. “He’s not a _child_ , he doesn’t need to be protected. Keeping things from him, no matter how horrible those things are, only hurts him worse. He’s a grown man. Let him be in control of his own life. Let him know the truth, all of it, and let him make his own decisions! He deserves that. What you and Megan did to him… it’s….”

She couldn’t find the words. Tears came instead, and she bowed her head, her shoulders pulling down and in, hunched over like she was trying to disappear into herself. She shook, sobbed, brought her hands over her eyes as if to try and stem the tide. David stood at her side and watched her cry, forced to come to face for the first time with the whole truth of his sins. He was good at rationalizing them away. With Megan and her research gone, he thought this would stay buried forever, and he knew Adam would never force him in to confrontation without solid proof. Charlie was an unexpected variable. He didn’t account for the possibilities she brought with her. None of them did. It was good, he supposed. He knew what he did was wrong - he just didn’t care, and thought he could get away with not dealing with it. He sat down next to her with a sigh. They weren’t fighting anymore.

“You’re going to tell him?”

“Yes. He should have been told a long time ago, by one of you two, but I’m going to tell him. Now.”

He sat with his elbows on his knees and nodded.

She took the datapad and a stack of other, relevant files with her when she left. She was worried, scared sick. What if Adam didn’t believe her? What if he got angry? What if she wasn’t really doing the right thing? David’s words stuck with her. Maybe she was just being selfish. Maybe this was just a panicked, knee-jerk reaction to Megan still being alive. Adam didn’t belong to her and she knew it but she still didn’t want to lose him. She knew her place in his life and she would’ve watched him go back to Megan without any sort of protest, but it would have killed her. Was this just a misguided attempted to secure her place at Adam’s side? With the back of her hand, she wiped her tears away. The cold air stung where her cheeks were wet.

When she returned to Adam’s apartment he was standing in the kitchen, awake - and just freshly, by the look of his messy hair and bleary eyes and bowl of cereal. If he couldn’t already tell that she’d been crying, a fresh wave of tears sprung forth as soon as she saw him.

“Hey, hey, _hey_ ,” he was with her in an instant, hands on her shoulders, fingers brushing tear-soaked strands of hair off her cheek where they stuck to her skin. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Her bag fell to the floor with a thud.

“Adam,” her voice shook. “Everything we found out yesterday, it’s… there’s more, Adam. That wasn’t all.”

She watched the clouds gather behind his eyes, saw him tense.

“I’m _so sorry_. I found something, I have… I have to tell you and it’s going to hurt you and I’m so, so sorry but I know keeping it from you would just hurt you even more.”

He cupped her cheek with his hand and his eyes searched her face. Her nose was red, her eyelashes stuck together with tears, he’d never seen anyone so genuinely upset - and on his behalf. The things that happened to him didn’t need to have any effect on her but they did because she cared about him so deeply and earnestly wanted him to be happy. He couldn’t say the same about anyone else in his life. Even Megan, towards the end… it wasn’t like that. He was still hurting, still healing, and he knew the blows wouldn’t stop anytime soon. But as much as it hurt, he would rather know the truth - and she seemed to be the only one who understood that. With her in his corner, at his side, he could take anything - she’d already shown that she would be there for him when he got hurt, to hold him and help him and **be there** for him. Whatever it was that she needed to tell him, he knew for a fact that she only wanted the best for him.

“Come on,” he took her hand, and led her to the couch. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll want to hear it sitting down.”

 

* * *

 

Adam stood with his arms crossed and a single eyebrow raised as he watched two movers carry a new mirror draped in a dustcloth through his entryway.

“They said it was on backorder,” he whispered to Charlie as they stood and watched the movers do their work in the bathroom, taking down the old shattered mirror and hanging up the new one.

“Oh, it was. But Sherri was more than happy to work with me and find one in a warehouse somewhere, especially once I found out what her favorite kind of cognac was and had a bottle sent to her.”

“ _Sherri_? You’re on a first-name basis with my landlady? And you _bribed_ her?”

“It’s not a bribe, Adam,” she smiled. “It’s called being nice. And it can get you far.”

He scratched his beard and grinned at her like he was utterly astonished.

As soon as the movers left, Adam had his hands on Charlie. It seemed more and more often the instant they were alone together he _had_ to have her, like a junkie had to have his fix, like a dying man in the desert had to have water. He was honestly taken aback by the absolute intensity with which he wanted her. It was overwhelming. When he touched her he felt the warmth from her skin seeping through his cybernetics, the strongest tactile sensation he’d found yet, and it was addictive. The flames were only fanned by how readily she returned his desire. He’d never had anyone be this attracted to him, even before he was augmented. It was beyond acceptance, which was more than he’d ever hoped for. She was shameless. She worshiped him. It was clear, and it was intoxicating. He knew now, thanks to her, that he’d been violated on such an extreme level in an attempt to make him a weapon. He reclaimed himself, a little bit, every time he fucked her. It was a small rebellion, but very important. It gave him the chance to be a lover, not a gun. He took that chance as often as he could.

When they were done, they stood together side-by-side in his bathroom, gazing at their reflections in the new mirror. Charlie’s hair was a mess of tousled, tangled, sweaty cornsilk, and one of Adam’s old DPD t-shirts hung loosely off her shoulders down to her thighs. Adam was shirtless, a healthy flush spreading through his chest and collarbones. It was strange, to see himself like this. Everything exposed, reflected back in a surface that was not a spiderweb of splinters and broken glass. He never thought he would get that damn mirror replaced. He expected to have to live forever with the reminder of his violent anger, the fucking metaphor for his life. Shattered. Damaged. Destroyed. It was fixed now, thanks to her. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this _whole_.

Charlie stood at his back and wrapped her arms around him. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder as her hands traveled up his chest, adorning every inch of him with loving touch. Something snapped inside of him when he’d found out the truth about his DNA, about all the ways David and Megan had taken advantage of him. The violent anger was gone. In it’s place was a sick, hollow sort of indifference. It was desolate, and stone cold. He was more determined than ever to find Megan, but just so he could ask her _why_ , and he still had to deal with David in a professional capacity, but… he had no other extraordinary emotions or thoughts to spare them. Even anger was some sort of reward, he realized. It was still a strong emotion on their behalf. It was still passion, still what they wanted. He had no room for it anymore. He was full of passion of a different kind, now. He would give his attention and energy to someone who deserved it.

His hands rose to meet hers, cybernetics lacing with flesh. He loved the way they looked together. It was the only time he felt okay about his body - when it was next to hers. It was something. It was a start. He lifted one of her hands and pressed his lips against the back of it, watched her smile over his shoulder. He knew, no matter what happened, she would be by his side.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, like he wasn't used to using his voice. “For everything.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> join me on [ tumblr ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com/)


	17. Flat Of The Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie investigates the CDC official who was responsible for covering up her mother's death, and finds a great deal more than she bargained for. At great cost, she discovers something that may help her save hundreds of thousands of lives, and the process of fighting for that discovery traumatizes her in ways that will help her prepare for the future (as much as it hurts.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellloooo! here we are!!! new chapter finally!!! i'm so sorry it took me so long to write. my speed seems to have decreased drastically for some reason and i really apologize! i write every single day but it somehow still seems to take forever ;-; anyway, thank you so much to anyone who is still reading and following my story! i love and appreciate every comment and kudos so much. you are all the best <3

The cold cut through him like a knife.

He was back in the woods again. It was strange - every time, he had the sense that, in the rules of this spectral universe, he was in a different area. It looked the same. But it _felt_ different.

This time, it felt hellish. It was dark, like the moonlight was smothered, blotted out. The absence of light turned everything monstrous, obscuring any sort of defined form and blurring everything together in a strange hulking spindly mass. He felt unwelcome. Reviled. A trespasser, where he didn’t belong, running, hiding from… _something._ His feet carried him forward, through a narrow path beset by a fringe of leaves and branches on both sides. The air smelled like pine and copper. His blood ran ice.

There was a scream again - _Megan’s_ scream - just like the first time, only much closer. Sickness surged within him, panic overwhelming and undiluted. She was dying, she was hurt. There was no one to save her, except for him. He ran.

He came to a clearing. The moonlight was back and seemed to be preternaturally focused on a tree in the center of a clearing like a spotlight focuses on a lead actor on stage. A woman wearing white was tied to the tree, ropes bound around the wide trunk forcing her forearms down and her palms up. Her head hung, a curtain of brunette hair obscuring her face. It didn’t matter. He knew who it was. This was all he needed to see. A memory hit him like a freight train. A scent. Expensive shampoo and even more expensive perfume. A woman, refined. You couldn’t even smell her skin, for as hard as she tried to mask it. His eyelids fluttered and for a moment he was staggered.

He tried to untie the ropes that bound her. He'd forgotten how he'd lost his hands. Critical failure, machine decay. The frayed ends of wires gave way to ghostly hands made of a strange transparent golden light. He pawed at the ropes uselessly, his fingers passing through them like air. Something was coming. To hurt her, to hurt them both. And he was useless. Without thought he triggered the nerve impulse that released the nanoblades in his arms. Nothing.

Megan looked up at him, her hair parting to reveal her face. There was something wrong, something... off. Her features were fuzzy, shifting, nebulous, like she'd been sculpted by someone who had no idea what humans looked like and had only been told - two eyes, nose, mouth. Her irises were black, so black they sucked the light out of the world around them. She grinned. Too wide. Teeth, too sharp.

"Couldn't save me then. Can't save me now. That’s alright. You don’t need me anymore.”

“Megan, what are you talking about?”

A rustling in the greenery behind him. The pursuer emerged. It was him… through the mire of sleep and dreams his mind dug out a name. _Namir._ To Adam, he was alarms blaring, earth shaking, hair on end primal panic. The man with his muscles outside of his skin. _His killer._

“We have to go. We have to leave.”

She didn’t understand. The urgency. Against the ropes her shoulders shook, a girlish laugh building into a terrifying crescendo as she tossed her head back and cackled. It was a sound so devoid of mirth or joy. It was cold as ice and sharp as glass. It drove horror into his heart, and it was then that he knew. A trap. An ambush. Megan looked up at him like a hungry dog, drool dripping from it’s fangs. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. A feeling, a clear thought, was communicated through the ether.

_You betrayed me._

In an instant he was drowning, water filing his lungs, a very sudden and absolute loss of oxygen. With a gasp he crashed out of the dream and back to the waking world, the forest falling away into nothing. He was in his apartment, in Detroit. It was dark and warm and the gentle ambient noise of the city outside was comforting as always but most importantly _she_ was there. Charlie - dragged into wakefulness just as suddenly as he was, eyes wide alert like she was ready to fight the night terrors away. Before her, he’d tear out of bed with his heart pounding and a scream in his lungs and have to pace around his apartment or angrily chainsmoke or hit something to calm himself down enough to (try to) sleep again.It was so much easier now. She was there. Warm sweet skin in the haze of sleep, soft and yielding when his hands found her but just as strong and immutable when she took him in her arms. Someone to hold on to and be held by. Mumbled reassurances, fingers gently grazing his dermal implants and lovingly trailing down every curve, bolt, port, hinge of his arms. It was clear, then. He was the world’s protector but when it came down to it, at times like this in the middle of the night run down by nightmares and trauma and his own demons… she was the one who kept him safe. The world of the nightmare faded, the monsters both real and imagined, and he knew.

_She’s wrong._

_And she can’t hurt you anymore._

 

* * *

 

Team Sarif sat in the cafeteria at SI HQ, very clearly plotting something. The four of them huddled around a table, littered with empty soda cans and barely-touched trays of food, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder intently involved. In the background, a large thinscreen TV against one wall displayed the face of Eliza Cassan. A Picus news broadcast, a ticker running across the bottom of the screen. _LIMB clinics institutes mandatory biochip upgrade for all augmented peoples._ It had happened before, it would happen again. All technology needed upgrades.

“So,” Pritchard began. “I’ve been watching CDC cameras. The nighttime cleaning crew usually leaves around 9pm. From then until 6am, the building is typically empty.”

“I’ll be flying dark,” Faridah leaned forward on her elbows. “So we can swoop right in onto the CDC’s helipad. Easy access.”

“I can override their security systems, but not for long. You’ll have fifteen minutes, max.”

On a datapad, Pritchard pulled up a 3D floorpan, rotating it with the touch of a finger.

“Donovan’s office is on the 16th floor. It should take you three minutes to get from the rooftop to her office.”

He slid a datastick across the table. Charlie picked it up, turned it over in her fingers like she was examining it, and then pocketed it.

"We've already got her login credentials. Just log on and plug this in. It's a program I've written to do two things - suck as much data out as fast as possible, and leave behind an undetectable virus that will give us surveillance access."

"Like a bug." She looked up at him.

"Yep," he nodded. "Like a bug. It'll work fast - five minutes should be all you need. You should be in and out without a trace, and time to spare. With any luck, we’ll find out _something_ about who Donovan is getting her orders from.”

"I'll be waiting on the helipad. Once you're done we'll head back home. Quick, simple, easy."

Adam was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, looking decidedly not as confident about the operation as Faridah and Pritchard sounded. He had a bad feeling about this. He didn’t doubt anyone’s skills, by any means. It just… seemed _too_ simple. _Too_ easy. Infiltration and data heist in a government agency - something was bound to go wrong. And that something was sure to have consequences. But he couldn’t argue with the logic of their plan, and he couldn’t seem to voice his concern in a way that didn’t come out condescending. He and Charlie had a bit of a fight about it, actually, standing in his kitchen a few days prior. _I don’t like that you’re going alone. Let me come with you._ It was a selfish request. He didn’t want to deal with the anxiety of being left behind while she did dangerous things. She felt infantilized and insulted by it - of course she did. Anything he could handle, she could, and she’d shown him that more than once. It wasn’t that he didn’t have confidence in her - it was just that he felt sick when he thought of anything bad happening to her. She couldn’t stay mad at him when she knew he was coming from a good place. But she was going alone, and that was that.

She already felt bad about the fact that Pritchard and Faridah were spending their time and effort helping her with what she _still_ considered to be a personal problem. She looked up at them with big eyes. She was remembering her life before, when she had nothing, no-one. Now she had _friends_ and they were helping her track down her mother’s killer and she was so overwhelm with gratitude it made her feel dizzy.

“Thank you guys _so_ much. Seriously.”

Faridah waved her hand.

“If what we suspect is true, and Donovan has Illuminati ties… this might help us get closer to our kidnapped scientists.”

“Besides, after what you did for us…” Pritchard added, and he and Adam locked eyes. The things Charlie had dug up about what David did to Adam… it affected them all. They’d hired a lawyer to review their employment contracts, for every single SI employee. It was a long process that had just begun, but if any other employee had a clause in their contract like Adam had that would’ve allowed their employer to mutilate them without their direct consent - it would be gone soon. If it developed into a class-action suit, it was likely to be the first of it’s kind, and could potentially change things for employees of biotech companies everywhere. It was a big deal, all of it, but most keenly felt by Adam. Charlie affected _real_ change. For him, it was everything.

“This will be fun,” Faridah grinned. “Just us girls. Doing a heist.”

“ _Hell yeah._ Girls trip!”

They high-fived and dissolved into giggles, and Adam couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile even as worry surged sick inside of him.

It was cold that night. They gathered on Sarif’s helipad, and Faridah fired up the VTOL while Pritchard went over last-minute plan specifics with Charlie. Of course, Pritchard was confident - this was as much a test of his skills as it was of Charlie’s, and he was very assured of both. When he’d reviewed everything with Charlie and wished her luck, he stepped away so she and Adam could have a moment alone.

The wind lifted her hair out in a golden wave, and above cheeks red from the cold, her eyes shone with a ferocious sort of determination. Looking at her then, he couldn't be worried. She was strong. She was smart. She was capable. He addressed her with a confident nod. His equal, not a woman he needed to protect.

"You got this."

And her smile was radiant.

"I learned from the best."

He didn't say anything else. Not _be careful,_ or _come back safe._ He simply held her face in his hands and kissed her. He watched her and Faridah board the VTOL, and Pritchard stood by his side as the two of them watched the aircraft lift itself off the helipad and disappear into the inky blackness far above the city skyline.

 

* * *

 

 

There wasn’t a ton of room in the VTOL’s cockpit, but Charlie and Faridah squeezed in close together. It didn’t occur to either of them that Charlie would sit in the passenger bay, separated by steel and communicating only through speakers and microphones. The girls had developed an easy closeness, and though they joked about it, they were both oddly excited about this. A chance to work together, alone - and if Charlie _had_ to do it, she was glad she got to do it with Faridah.

“You nervous?”

Charlie was quiet for one thoughtful moment, and then she shook her head.

"No. Excited, mostly."

Faridah was present, but she had her eyes on the horizon.

"Yeah, I can imagine. Finally getting the chance to nail down the people who killed your mother.”

“I mean, it might not happen tonight. But any step closer is good enough for me. I went four years with nothing. It wasn’t until I ran into you guys that I actually had the means to do this kind of stuff.”

“Happy to help!” Faridah busied herself with the VTOL’s knobs and dials, her fingers dancing across onyx touchscreens. She shot Charlie a crooked little grin. “You deserve justice. Everyone does, but especially you.”

Charlie shot the pilot a gracious little smile. _Thanks, Malik. That means a lot._

“Man, this really makes me miss having a co-pilot. Flying the bird is never _boring_ , but… it can get lonely up here. And to be honest, Jensen’s not the most… talkative company.”

“What are you talking about? Honestly, I can’t ever get him to shut up.”

A wry smile. A sparkle in her eyes. And they both laughed.

“You used to have a copilot?”

“Mhmm,” Faridah murmured fondly. “Not since working for Sarif. But, before. My girl Evelyn. We used to fly cargo carriers for ArcAir out in China.”

There was a tone that always crept into someone’s voice when they spoke of a memory that was soured. She heard it in Faridah’s voice, then.

“What happened?”

“Found out we were working for bad people. Doing bad things. My employment with ArcAir didn’t end on the best of terms.”

Faridah’s eyes narrowed as she remembered her final assignment with ArcAir. The Belltower-faciliated kidnapping of Isolay employees from Peru. A hostile acquisition of new talent for China’s biotech companies. She remembered Nahari Khan shooting a man in cold blood. She remember the storm, and the drones. An aircraft carrier in the middle of turbulent waters, and a high-octane air chase through the metropolis of lower Hengsha. She’d had a good life there - a job, and friends. She watched it all go up in flames.

"Anyway, that was a long time ago. I had to leave, had to lay low, and last I heard… Evelyn is dead."

"Oh," Charlie's face fell. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah." Her jaw drew tight, her eyes cold and distant. “Thanks. I guess we've all lost something. Anyway, I'd be dead, too, if it weren't for David and SI. He helped me start a new life."

Charlie remembered sitting across from Pritchard a few days ago, hearing a similar story - not to mention her own personal experience with David saving her mother's life. It seemed that everyone David touched, he helped or saved - with one massive exception.

Faridah looked over at Charlie and knew exactly what she was thinking.

"He's a good man. But he did a bad thing. People aren't like characters in fairy tales, purely good or evil. Good people can do bad things, and bad people can do good things. It doesn't mean we should let him off the hook for what he did. It was wrong, and he'll be held accountable for it. But he isn't a villain. He isn't a bad guy."

"I know." Charlie's voice was heavy, weary, weighed down and tired. “But… even admitting that feels like a disservice to Adam. I just wish I could do more to help.”

“You’ve done more than anyone else, hun. He’s gotta do the rest on his own. Now get your head in the game, we’re coming up on the ATL.”

In the distance, out of an inky black sky, the hulking urban metropolis of Atlanta rose like a beacon.

Back at SI HQ, Adam and Pritchard sat together in the tech lab. Armed with cigarettes and coffee aplenty, they’d settled in for a long night of running comms and remotely assisting Charlie any way they could. It was strange, but… the attitude of general venomous distaste they usually regarded each other with was completely absent. Instead there was a comfortable, quiet camaraderie. While they waited out the girls’ flight to Atlanta, Pritchard pulled up an old cheesy sci-fi movie on one of his many screens, and for a couple of hours they were just two dudes watching space marines fight off an alien invasion together. They’d never expected to enjoy each other’s company. It was a remarkable thing, and not at all lost on them. Faridah’s voice came crackling through the speakers, and Frank immediately muted the movie. They were alert.

_”Hello, boys. The bird is approaching Atlanta. Our girl should be on the ground in fifteen minutes.”_

“Call me when you’re on the helipad, and I’ll shut down their security systems.”

Pritchard was already typing like mad. Half of this job was up to him, and he was determined not to fuck it up - not like that was ever even a possibility in the first place. Adam drummed his fingers against the desktop and lit a cigarette. It was the first time since returning from Montreal that they’d been apart for any significant amount of time and he fucking _missed_ her. More than he expected. More than he was prepared for. Beyond being worried about her safety he just wanted her to get in and out and done _fast_ so she could come home and he could hear her voice and feel her skin underneath his hands once again. He took a drag, exhaled, and thoughtfully regarded the plume of smoke that spiraled up towards the low tech lab ceiling. He was still scared to say it, or even think it, for some reason. No longer was he carrying a torch for Megan, and yet still he faltered. It was fear, and cowardice. Falling in love with Charlie had been the easiest thing in the world. To admit it, to himself or to her, felt insurmountable.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, Frank. I’m on the roof.”

It was cold, and dark, and very many hundreds of feet up, and Charlie felt adrenaline surging relentlessly through her.

_”Give me a minute. Aaaaaannnddddd… we’re good. Cameras, locks, and alarms are disabled. The building is your playground, for about fifteen minutes.”_

No response. No witty quip. Her eyes were sharp, her jaw set. With no time wasted, she cut across the roof and threw open the stairwell access door. She was on the clock. She was on a mission.

The building was dark and abandoned. It was like passing through a dream - everywhere she saw signs of life, of a bustling busy office building, but it was dead and deserted. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she got to the 16th floor.

When Charlie was a girl, she’d had braces, and gotten teased mercilessly for it as children with braces are often subject to. For a while she would cry every morning before school, because she dreaded it so much. Her mom would kneel down, grab her by the shoulders, and join her in the reputation of a phrase over and over like a mantra. _”I am a badass, and I am brave, and I can handle anything.”_ Perhaps some other mothers would have felt bad about teaching curse words to a child. But Charlie’s mom knew that the message was more important. It was so important. It still drove Charlie, and buoyed her in times of need. With her palm flat on the door of Jill Donovan’s office, she whispered it to herself, and tried to conjure up her mother’s voice in her mind. She was scared shitless, but so firmly committed to this course of action.

Donovan’s office was typical of a high-ranking government official. Dark polished woods, plush leathers, and gleaming onyx touchscreens. The door was flanked by bookshelves, filled with dour leather-bound tomes on legal precedent and history. Nobody read print anymore. They were purely decorative - and quite pretentious.

Charlie made a beeline for Donovan’s desk. It was clean, uncluttered. Spartan. Free of decoration or personal touches aside from one framed photo of Donovan and a young girl - her daughter, Charlie guessed, by the rich red hair they shared. Charlie frowned, and shook her head. She logged on to Donovan’s computer and plugged in Pritchard’s datastick before sinking into the plush, overstuffed leather desk chair.

“Okay, Frankie. We’re in. Data transfer incoming.”

_”You’re making good time. Just stay put.”_

It didn’t feel right to sit in her chair. Leaving her commlink on the desk, Charlie got up and began to pace the room. She crossed her arms and walked slowly and deliberately around the perimeter. The bookshelves were immaculately clean - Charlie imagined Donovan giving specific orders for the nighttime cleaning crew to dust the bookshelves thoroughly every night or she would have them fired. Charlie had never met Donovan, and knew next to nothing about her - a name, a face, and the knowledge that she was an Illuminati agent. It may not have been accurate to how Donovan truly was as a person, but Charlie had created a caricature of an evil, calculating ice queen. Partially out of necessity, partially out of pure hatred for the Illuminati and the harm they’d already done to both her and Adam. It seemed more and more apparent that they were called to fight the Illuminati, in a major way. In order to fight them effectively she needed to believe, to earnestly believe, these people were all deeply evil. It wasn’t hard. Righteousness came a little too easily to her.

Something caught her eye, right against the edge of the leftmost bookshelf. A seam in the wall - barely apparent. Mostly just a slight difference in paint color, like sun and time had worn it unevenly. She pressed her fingers against the wall gingerly, feeling the seam and the wall around it. Passing the seam to the left, it was almost like the wall below was… hollow? She pushed, testing the weight. A click, a stifled gasp, and the hidden door swung open. Charlie’s heart nearly leapt out of her throat. Ahead was a short corridor, narrow and dark, and the faint cold glow of electronic screens in the distance. She could hear Pritchard’s voice coming from her commlink speaker back on the desk. Ignoring it, she took a step forward.

_”The hack is almost done. Charlie? You there?”_

As she advanced further into the corridor, Pritchard’s voice was drowned out and replaced by another. Two, actually. From the room at the end, she could hear the voices of two women.

_”Has American distribution of the biochips been completed?”_

_”Yes. Under government order they have been shipped to every LIMB clinic in the United States, based on the amount of registered augs in each municipality. We have second shipments prepped and ready. They will be automatically shipped once each LIMB clinic goes through half of their first shipment.”_

_”Excellent work. Lucius and I are pleased. Under your leadership, American distribution of the biochips has been by far the most efficient of any country. But they have, after some inconvenience, been distributed globally. By the end of the week, every augmented citizen should be implanted with our biochip - and under our control.”_

Charlie felt ice ruin through her veins. She remembered the Picus ticker on the TV before she’d left. The Illuminati were _real,_ and they were implanting augs with control chips. It was worse than anything she could have expected. She didn’t believe what she was hearing. Her feet carried her forward even as her mind told her to run.

_”I’m happy to be of service, Beth. You know I always have been.”_

A beat of silence, too long.

_”Jill.”_

_”Yes?”_

_”Lock the door. You have an intruder.”_

It all happened so fast. Charlie stepped out of the corridor into full view of the chamber at the end. It was a small, round room. Luxurious surfaces of polished marble shone in the low light. A desk, a small sofa, tables and chairs - and a massive amount of electronic hardware. In the center stood Jill Donovan, in an austere slate-grey suit, a sharp ginger bob framing eyes shocked and shrewd. She was taking a vidcall on a massive thinscreen against one wall. It bathed the scene in blue light. For some reason it was hard to clearly see the woman on the screen, but Charlie was left with the impression of a woman with silver hair elegantly coiffed. Sophisticated, lean, mature but not elderly. The bearing of a viper. Quickly, Charlie’s trained eye registered a username and GPS stamp in the corner of the screen. _/ DuClare / Geneva CH /_

_”Take care of her, Jill.”_

The woman on the screen gave a final icy order, and flickered into blackness.

“I don’t know who you are,” Donovan’s stilettos clicked against the marble as she advanced on Charlie, “or how you got here, but you aren’t leaving alive.”

There was no mistaking it. A person’s eyes changed when they prepared to kill. Charlie’s boots slid against the ground as she backed up frantically, hands fumbling at the holsters clipped to her belt. She was underarmed, unprepared. She didn’t come expecting a fight. She didn’t come expecting to have to defend her life. She had her stun gun, and a small utility knife. She heard a click as the false door she entered through closed itself. Her commlink was on the desk in the other room. She was really, truly on her own.

Donovan was reaching into her jacket. Her suit was fit too close to her skin to allow for holstering of any serious weapons. She pulled out a small handgun, the kind that can fit in the palm of your hand, marketed towards ladies for self-defense.

“I’ll tell you who I am, Jill,” Charlie started speaking before Donovan had time to aim at her. Her heart was racing. She was merely stalling - this could only end one way. There was no point in talking. But it would give her time to formulate a plan.

“My name isn’t important.” The rip of velcro as she removed her stun gun from it’s case. “One of your Illuminati bosses decided he wanted my mother dead - and the rest of you helped him, and have been helping him, for the past four years.” She brandished her stun gun, wrapping her fingers tight around the square plastic casing. “I’m here to expose you. And put an end to it.”

Despite Donovan’s disturbing readiness to kill Charlie, Charlie did not return it, and wanted to avoid it if she could. She wasn't ready to be a killer. She wasn’t ready to have that on her consciousness. And she couldn’t forget the framed picture on Donovan’s desk. Donovan had already seen her face, but didn’t know her name, and… there were already so many people after Charlie. What was one more? Surely she was already in the Illuminati’s crosshairs. If she could just knock Donovan out, just incapacitate her so that she could escape…

"You can never put an end to us," Donovan hissed, and Charlie knew she had to make the first move.

The first thing she needed to do was disarm Donovan - her opponent’s weapon gave her a distinct advantage. Donovan may have been better armed but Charlie was better outfitted - a tight skirt and stilettos didn’t afford Donovan nearly as much agility and dexterity as Charlie’s jeans and boots. Charlie bent her knees and kicked, sweeping her foot through Donovan’s ankles. She was knocked off balance, and high heels gave her no stability on which to right herself. As she fell to the ground, she threw her left arm out and fired a shot blind. With a violent crash, the bullet lodged itself firmly in the thinscreen on the wall, splintering the glass.

Donovan was on her back, scrambling on her elbows, but she still had her weapon. Charlie crawled on top of her and straddled her, pinning her down with the weight of her hips and forcing Donovan’s pistol hand flat against the ground. They both grunted as they struggled against each other - Charlie as she tried to pry Donovan’s fingers off the pistol grip, and Donovan as she fought against it. Charlie brought her leg up and stepped on Donovan's hand with the thick rubber sole of her combat boot. With a strangled cry, the woman released her hold on the gun, and Charlie kicked it hard so it skidded into the far corner of the room, beneath the shattered thinscreen. She looked up at Charlie, and made a split second decision. Charlie felt hands gripping the side of her head, pulling at her hair, and Donovan brought Charlie’s head down and hers up crashing together in a brutal headbutt that sounded like a flash grenade and sent Charlie stumbling back.

Through ringing ears and blurred vision, Charlie saw Donovan scrambling on hands and knees, crawling across the room to where her gun had landed. Panicked, Charlie launched herself forward and grabbed Donovan, pulling her back down. She pressed her stun gun into the woman’s ribs and fired it. With a loud crack, Donovan seized and then went limp.

Charlie sat back on her heels and exhaled. Her heart slowed, her breathing steadied. Donovan was incapacitated, but she would live - and Charlie had gotten quite a bit more information than she’d expected. Slowly, wearily, Charlie stood up. There was a control panel near the entrance of the chamber. She unlocked the hidden door with a click and release. She was halfway down the corridor when she heard movement behind her.

It varied, how long a stun gun would actually knock someone out, and they made neural augs that made a person more resilient to shocks or EMPs. Expensive, and restricted mostly to military personnel. Donovan must have had one - she was up after only a few seconds. She was clearly still a little fuzzy in the head, because she didn’t attempt to go for her gun - her stilettos lie discarded on the floor and in stocking feet she made a run for Charlie. If the gloves had ever been on, they were off now - Donovan’s teeth were bared as she launched herself at Charlie and twisted her elbow around Charlie’s neck, effectively putting her into a chokehold.

As Donovan’s forearm crushed Charlie’s windpipe she knew that her idealistic goal of not killing the woman would not be possible. Donovan was strong, and pulling her back, and exerting increasingly powerful pressure against Charlie's throat. She was being strangled. Charlie gasped and choked, trying desperately to take in air, thrashing against Donovan as her hands reached for the utility knife on her belt. With a flick of her wrist, she deployed the blade and turned the knife around in her hand so the blade faced backward, towards her elbow like some sort of wicked fang. She felt faint, lightheaded. Her eyes fluttered once like they wanted desperately to close, to slip into unconscious, but she forced them back open. She pulled her arm back and brought the utility knife into Donovan's torso, just above her hip. Nausea overcame Charlie as the knife pierced the skin and lodged itself in Donovan's flesh. It was softer and more readily yielding than she'd expected. She could hear Donovan gasp close to her ear, but she didn't release her hold. Charlie's knees buckled. She pulled the knife out and plunged it back in closer to center - over and over again, so many times she lost count. She could feel the blood, hot and wet, seeping through both of their clothes.

Donovan stumbled backwards and Charlie hunched over, gasping for air, coughing violently. Her hand opened and the knife fell to the floor into a puddle of blood. The reality of what had just happened surged against her insides. She was scared to turn around, scared to look at what she'd done. Necessity demanded it.

Donovan was slumped down against the wall, her legs splayed out, the starched white cotton of her blouse punctured with a dozen or so jagged, bloody wounds. She lifted a hand and pressed it against one of them, regarding the blood on her fingers with an abject sort of horror.

"You should have stayed down," Charlie whispered. "I didn't want to kill you. You should have stayed down."

Donovan laughed weakly and let her head roll back. She was losing blood, a lot of it, very fast. She was dying.

“I’m so sorry,” Charlie spoke with a voice hollow and empty. She fell to her knees at Donovan’s side, made some attempt to stem the bleeding with her hands. It was futile. They both knew it. “I didn’t want to kill you. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Donovan closed her eyes and shook her head. “You did me a favor. If I let you escape, they would have done worse than kill me.”

“Are they really that bad?”

Donovan turned and gave Charlie a wry smile - almost wistful. Her eyes were very far away.

“Worse than you could imagine. You'll find out soon. I’m free of them now. But you’re just getting started. I’d tell you to run, but it’s too late, anyway. And I know you won’t.”

Charlie hung her head. She’d found herself in a lot of seriously deep shit over the past few months, but never once did she feel genuine fear like this, never once did she want to turn and run and give up and leave it all behind. She’d been shocked seeing the Purity First hacker shoot himself in the head, back at Milwaukee Junction - but here, now, she’d just killed a woman with her own hands. This journey was taking her places she did not want to go. All that awaited her ahead was more of the same. And for what? What did she even plan to do with the truth, once she found it? It would take a lot to discredit Bob Page in the public eye, and she would certainly never have legal restitution. It was all pointless.

"I hope... I hope my daughter fights like you."

Charlie sat with Donovan until she died. It didn't take long. When the light had left the woman's eyes, Charlie passed her fingertips gently over her eyelids to close them, and stood up to leave. She felt numb. Her body moved but she felt separate from it, her mind a thousand miles away, completely disassociated. She wiped her bloody hands on her jeans and holstered her weapons, closing the hidden door behind her as she left the secret room.

_"Charlie?! Are you there? What's going on?!"_

She picked up her commlink and took the datastick out of Donovan's computer.

"I'm here, Frank. Leaving now."

_"What the hell just happened? You were gone for like, ten minutes. I was just about to send Malik in after you!"_

There was no trace of struggle or invasion in Donovan's office. Charlie left it just as she'd found it - aside the carnage inside the secret room. She moved briskly out of the office and through the building, back up to the roof.

"Don't worry about it. Listen - that biochip upgrade from LIMB. Have any of you got it yet?"

_"What? No, we haven't. Why?"_

"I'm sure we'll find something about it on Donovan's computer. The biochip is being distributed by the Illuminati. It's some sort of control chip, I don't know why or what they want to do with it, but..."

Silence on the other end. And then a staticky, weakly uttered _Jesus._

Charlie pushed open the rooftop door a few seconds before the alarms were set to go off, and the cold wind slapped her in the face with enough force to shake her numbness. For a moment she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, didn’t know where she was - dead to the world, consumed in pure panic. Faridah was standing against the VTOL with her arms crossed and it only took her a split-second to assess that something was wrong with Charlie. She ushered her into the VTOL, gently but firmly. She could guess well enough what had happened.

”Boys, there’s been a little bit of a change in plans. I can’t bring her back to SI. Our girl is in no state to be out in public.”

 _”What do you mean?”_ Adam’s voice came sharp and gruff through the intercom. Charlie sat next to Faridah in the cockpit, in silent hysterics, and Faridah lifted them off the rooftop and away from CDC headquarters and what had just happened inside.

“Looks like she got in a fight, and I don’t think we wanna see the other guy.”

A pause, silence somehow explosive.

_”Bring her back to my apartment. I’ll meet you there.”_

Faridah signed off, and spent the rest of the flight with one hand on Charlie’s back drawing slow soothing circles and whispering reassurances of _you’re okay, it’ll be okay._ They were all of them familiar with death, but it was an entirely different thing to experience it up close or to dish it out yourself. Faridah emphasized, but felt unequipped to do any more than that.

There was one man who could, and in the blink of an eye she was there, in his apartment. No physical place brought her more comfort, and his presence felt more like home than anything else in the world, but neither did much to quell the horror she felt when she looked at her own hands and remembered what she’d done with them.

_I’m a killer now._

He helped her undress - her clothes were covered in blood, and they lay forgotten in a stiff pile on the bathroom floor. Together they stood in the shower under a scalding stream that left her skin raw, and with his cybernetics shining under the water he washed away the blood that had dried on her hands, her neck, the ends of her hair. She cried, then, her tears washed away as soon as they fell, water lost to water like a phantom thing. He dried her off and dressed her in one of his t-shirts - it hung from her frame, down to her thighs. And with her wet hair sticking to her face… she looked more innocent than he’d ever seen her. He felt a pang in his heart. The one thing he didn’t count on having to protect her from. Of course… she’d lived most of her life up until now as a (relatively) normal girl and she never shied away from danger but it had never presented itself so brazenly and in such large amounts. It was bad enough when she'd got shot back in Montreal. To take a life, especially for the first time… it was traumatizing. He was used to it. He could handle it. He’d been through this already, a thousand times. She should never have been subjected to it.

He poured her a drink - whiskey, four fingers high, just like she’d done for him - and sat her down on the couch. She closed her eyes and drank half the glass in one gulp. He placed a hand on her knee - gentle, reassuring.

“Tell me what happened.”

She inhaled, shakily.

“There was a hidden door. A secret room. I didn’t mean to find it, I was just… looking around, waiting for the hack to finish.”

“And you went inside?”

“Of course I did.”

“Of course you did.” It wasn’t anger. Annoyance, maybe, but... cushioned by a strained affection. 

“Donovan was there, taking a vidcall. A woman named Beth DuClare. They were talking about the biochips, about distributing them worldwide and in the States, about… about how they would have control. The biochips would give them control. I don’t know how but… the woman on the other end of the vidcall knew I was there before Donovan did. She said… ‘take care of her’.”

“They’ve got eyes everywhere. They’ll always be one step ahead of us, and the rest of the world.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to realize that. Anyway, um… she ended the call, and turned on me. Told me I wasn’t leaving alive. She had a gun. And she was going to kill me, I knew it, I could feel it.”

“You don’t disobey an order from the Illuminati. She knew it wasn’t optional.”

“I tried to disarm her - well, I did disarm her. I hit her with my stun gun but she must've had a shock blocker aug because she was out for thirty seconds, maybe. I tried to just knock her out and leave. I tried."

She buried her face in her hands as speech was lost to anguish. Adam reached out for her hand and squeezed firmly. He was silent. After a moment, she was ready to speak again.

“I didn’t want to kill her, Adam.”

Charlie’s eyes were raw from crying, ringed in red. She looked up at Adam like she was lost and he was the way, like she was drowning and he was solid ground. She knew. He knew. This was entirely new territory to her - horrifyingly unfamiliar. He was experienced. He was a lantern. He could guide her.

“I didn’t want to kill her. She had a daughter, a family, _oh god._ I created another little girl just like me. I did it to her. I don’t want this, Adam, I don’t want to be this. I don’t want to be a killer.”

“Hey.”

He spoke firmly, gravely serious, and grabbed ahold of her shoulders with both hands.

“Listen.”

with his voice, he commanded her full attention. She was wallowing in despair but he pulled her upwards, towards the surface.

_”You aren’t a killer.”_

A beat, in which he bored his eyes into hers in an attempt to convey the importance of what he was saying.

“You aren’t a killer. Trust me, I’m a cop. _Was_ a cop. You acted in self-defense. _She_ was the killer. You did what you had to.”

“I could have done more.”

“No. Stop that. _Listen._ What you did to her isn’t the same as what the Illuminati did to your mother. That woman forfeited her life twice - the first time when she chose to align herself with the Illuminati, and the second time when she attacked you. It was you or her. You did what you had to. I know it doesn’t feel very good, but… with what we do, it’s inevitable. You have to take a life every now and then.”

Something changed in her eyes. She found her footing. Common ground.

"Does it get any easier?"

"No. But you don't want it to."

"... How many?"

He exhaled sharply, taken aback by the question posed. Most people wouldn’t be so straightforward. Most people weren’t Charlie Winters.

“I don’t count, and neither should you. Nobody needs that hanging over their head. Just… know that you avoided it when you could. Know that you did more good than harm. Know that for every life you took, you saved countless others.”

His words had a deliberate sort of weight to them, as did the pointed arch of his eyebrows. She knew what he was referring to.

“The biochip. I know.”

“Whatever they plan to do with it, it can’t be good. You have the information. I’m sure Pritchard will find us proof. So do your thing. Take all the time you need to recover from this, because… it’s hard, I know. In the meantime, get the truth out. Let the people know what’s going on. It will help you heal. It will save lives. _You_ will save lives. A lot of them, probably.”

She broke down again. Her head against his shoulder, his arms pulling her in as she cried. It was of a different sort this time, though. Gratitude. Relief. The bittersweet moving forward - nothing was okay right now but in time some things would be okay and in the meantime she had to keep living, keep working. She was used to it, but not in this context. He was. The world wouldn’t wait. The Illuminati wouldn’t wait. It was easier to hurt when you had someone next to you who knew your hurt, and thanks to her, Adam understood that very well. She’d been doing it for him for so long - it felt good, and natural, for him to return the favor, and he was uniquely suited for it in this regard. Still, he wished she never had to go through this, but - it seemed both of their lives were built around adapting to unforeseen and unpreventable traumas. At least now they had each other.

For a moment she cried, and when she was done, she lifted her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Where did I put my commlink? I need to call Frank…”

“In the morning. You need to sleep.”

 _Sleep._ Her body called out for it, but she had no idea how her mind would ever yield, how she could close her eyes and not be forced into re-living what she’d just been through in horrid detail. It was easier than she expected, with Adam’s arms around her and his heartbeat steadfast under her ear. Adam was right - she’d only killed Donovan because she’d been backed into a corner, forced to fight for her life. If she hadn’t, _she_ would be the dead one right now, not here with him. The guilt of taking a life was not likely to leave her for a very long time, but her fire burned brighter and stronger than ever. It was necessary, and every step she took forward into the shadows made it more apparent. How many lives, _innocent_ lives, had the Illuminati taken in their quest for... what? Power? Control? Money? And save taking lives they _ruined_ lives. She and Adam were walking proof of that. The Illuminati were oppressive, wholly evil, and if they were so ready to kill they had to be ready to die as well. She let herself feel the pain now because she knew it would steel her for a future filled with much,  _much_ more of this. Cybernetic fingers brushed through her hair and in an instant she was reminded of what she’d fought for, of what made it all worth it. Truthfully, she would kill as many more times as she needed to, in order to stay alive. For the first time in a long time, she had something to live for.

 

* * *

 

  


  
_**…… CONNECTING ……**_

_**// CONNECTION ESTABLISHED //** _

****bl4ckcat:**** hello? eliza, are you there?

_**…… TRANSMITTING …… TRANSMITTING ……** _

****bl4ckcat**:** eliza? it’s me, charlie. are you getting these messages? do you read?

**_// TRANSMISSION RECEIVED //_ **

****picusm487**:** charlie winters. detroit free press.

****bl4ckcat**:** you remember me? :)

****picusm487**:** your name. face, voice. stored in my memory files. version 3.6. patched out on 11/23/27. a previous version remembers you. i have access to that memory.

****bl4ckcat**:** do you remember the things that the previous version of you said to me?

_**…… SEARCHING …… SEARCHING …… FILE ACCESSED** _

_"It wasn’t until I saw you, until I saw your conviction and your principles, that I realized what I was doing was wrong."_

****picusm487**:** we remember.

****bl4ckcat**:** good. i need to ask a favor. i need your help. it might go against your programming, but… people are in danger. we could save lives, eliza.

****picusm487**:** what do you require of me?

****bl4ckcat**:** i just need control. i have a broadcast ready, i just need you to let me do it. just for sixty seconds. that’s all i need.

****picusm487**:** satellites. newsfeeds. blogs.

****bl4ckcat**:** just for sixty seconds. i know it’s a lot to ask. i know it might get you in trouble. i’m desperate. and i know there’s good in you. i know you have free will, thoughts, emotions. to me, you’re a person. not just a program.

_**……** _  
_**…………** _  
_**………………** _

****picusm487**:** i can make it look like an error.

****picusm487**:** i have not forgotten. i will help you. just tell me when.

_**// CONNECTION TERMINATED //** _

 

* * *

 

  
It happened all at once.

Synchronized across the globe. In one instant, every Picus broadcast channel went black, Eliza Cassan’s face flickered out into nothing. Gigantic thinscreens in Times Square. Household televisions in Canada, London, Tokyo, Mexico, Hengsha, South African, Paris, Berlin, Prague and Australia. Before families eating dinner, businessmen at bars, teenagers staying up late when they shouldn’t, crowds milling about in public places. A burst of static, followed by a few seconds of dead air. Then the message came across - white text on a black screen, translated into 12 languages.

_**AUGS OF THE WORLD, IF YOU VALUE YOUR FREEDOM AND LIVES** _

_**DO NOT GET THE BIOCHIP UPGRADE** _

_**IT IS A CONSPIRACY TO CONTROL YOU** _

_**LIMB AND THE WORLD’S PUBLIC HEALTH ORGANIZATIONS ARE UNDER THE THUMB OF AN EVIL ORGANIZATION** _

_**MORE SECRETIVE, AND WITH A WIDER REACH, THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE** _

_**FIGHT BACK** _

_**RESIST** _

_**REJECT THE BIOCHIP** _

_**STAY FREE** _

_**FOR PROOF VISIT www.rejectthebiochip.org** _

And in a flash, like it had never happened, Eliza Cassan’s placid expression and monotone voice returned in lurid color. For a split-second it almost looked like she was smiling.

 

* * *

 

It took them three days to find Donovan's body. When she was reported missing and was unreachable by her Illuminati masters, DuClare sent an agent down to Atlanta with orders to inspect Donovan's office and lair. The agent found a cold body and congealed blood. DuClare knew what had happened. She remembered a face, shrouded in shadows through video feed behind Donovan's back. A young blonde woman with wide eyes, as frightened as she was bold. Like most other members of the Illuminati, DuClare was exceptional at reading people. She knew very well how to detect tenacity, and how to tell if that tenacity could be turned to her benefit or would need to be stomped clean out before it came back to haunt her. Charlie Winters set off every single one of her alarms. She should have already been eliminated - the fact that she'd evaded their attempts thus far _and_ taken out a high-ranking official just showed what a real danger she was. But she wasn't an agent. She wasn't trained. Smart and persistent, yes, but - meddling in things far above her level. She was just lucky. And luck always ran out.

DuClare had her agents planted within the police force write off Donovan's death as a suicide. Illuminati-controlled media created a scandal to justify it, publicly disgracing a woman who had loyally served them for years. It was the most convenient. It suited their needs. Donovan's daughter would grow up hating her mother, not the person who killed her, because she would never know the truth. Swept under the rug, like everything else. And they would silence with brutal efficacy anyone who attempted to pull that rug up.

The website blasted across Picus during the hacked broadcast contained screenshots of emails, internal documents, clandestine memos - all data taken from a security breach created the night Donovan died. Immediately, the CDC and WHO were releasing statements, DuClare was smiling at press conferences, damage control mode was underway. Standing on the steps of the WHO headquarters in Geneva, wearing an expensive suit, DuClare denounced it all.

"The documents were obviously falsified. This was a dangerous attack by malicious anti-aug hackers who wish to destabilize the public and sabotage the health and safety of augs everywhere. We must not let them win. LIMB and the world's public health organizations are working together to ensure the health and happiness of our augmented citizens. Without the biochip, serious medical issues could arise, and your tech will be dangerously outdated. We encourage anyone with any questions or uncertainties to contact their local LIMB clinic. And we are working diligently on catching the hackers who did this, to ensure that it will never happen again."

She looked directly at the camera with the slightest narrowing of her eyes. She could speak with body language as adeptly as she could read it and she was sending a message. A threat.

_We're coming for you._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> join me on [ tumblr ](http://forevermarked.tumblr.com/)


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